Snow Fall
by french-charlotte
Summary: Set shortly after War Crimes/MoP. The Alliance and Horde have a summit meeting in Winterspring to discuss war reparations the Horde is due to pay back. A teenaged Anduin manages to get himself in a spot of trouble that threatens his life and gets help from an unlikely source. [Father/Son bonding] [Varian & Anduin] [No romance] [Family Time] [Varian Best Dad]
1. Chapter 1

**~Author Note~**

**This is set shortly after War Crimes and MoP. It's... kind of an AU? Maybe? Right now, I'm not sure if it would be considered one but let's err on caution and go with yes. **

**Pairings: Nothing romantic. Just Varian being Azeroth's #1 (DILF) Dad. **

**My plan is to (hopefully) get on a decent schedule with updating stories on the regular. That means hopping between the Warcraft and AC universe to do "Ripples" some justice and finish that badboy up. New stories are going to be cross-posted here and AO3. For now, though, enjoy this heartfelt, family fic~ **

**Warnings: None to really note. Maybe language and a rusty writer getting her legs back under her.**

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Anduin wasn't sure what dragged him from his unconsciousness first: the biting cold from the snow beneath him or his father's half-yelling, panicked voice inches away.

"Anduin! Anduin! Can you hear me? Guards! Get a healer!"

The fifteen-year old groaned lowly at the frantic overtures heavying down the High King's words, but they were enough to make the prince groan lowly and force his eyes open. Powder blue irises tinged with fatigue and turned glassy by the Winterspring chill stared up first at the oddly purple sky. Winterspring always did have a strange ecosystem, constantly bathed in snow and tossed in an omnipresent hellish winter. Why they chose it as the staging point for their council meetings between the Alliance and still reforming Horde was a mystery to him. As if watching the leaders snap at each other's necks wasn't enough pain, they were masochist enough to add insult to injury and willingly elect to freeze.

Or maybe they just knew there wouldn't be many places for someone to run if an attack did happen. Footprints in the sea of snow would be easy for anyone to follow, even the lowest and most amateur of trackers.

"I am a healer," Anduin weakly protested as he fought to roll himself up to a sitting position, though his limbs felt numbed from the cold and his fur-lined cloak was soaked from the snowbank he lay in. In the distance, he could see his father's guards rushing from the Kal'dorei lodge, their plated armor outfitted with winterized tabards to fight off the cold as best as they could. "I just need-"

"What are you doing out here?" Varian sharply cut off as he swept his stare over his child, frowning at the unnatural blue tint to his normally pinkish lips. "You missed the welcoming breakfast. Your guards had been looking all over for you and I was a breath away from notifying the rest of the compound on your disappearance. Conveniently occurring right after several of the Horde just arrived." From the lodge, a crowd had begun to collect, though their distance wouldn't afford them much of a scene to balk over. While Varian's very large figure undoubtedly stuck out among the expanse of alabaster, pristine snow, his son's frozen body was almost covered in the very sickly white substance.

Looking from his father's scarred, scowling face flickering between paternal worry and kingly frustration, Anduin bowed his head as he fought to stand. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause a stir or worry you. I must've fallen when I was…"

The movement in the frostline far from the lodge was fragmented from the thin silhouettes of trees. The wind battered more harshly against his face, making his cloak whip and snarl around his body and angry wisps of snow circle around him tauntingly.

He was closer, and the figures took shape. A man with glowing red eyes snapped at him, yelled something but he couldn't make out the words. The other with elven-like features yet gaunt that had long lost its beauty with death, drew a long bow. His hands were raised defensively up as he backpedaled, trying to regain a safe distance.

The sound of a bow string releasing came seconds before the pain in his chest exploded and then pure blackness.

"Anduin?"

Blinking rapidly, the prince didn't realize he was falling over until two strong arms were gripping his shoulders and carefully pulled him to his feet. The world seemed to turn sluggish around him, but the memories - he was sure they were memories, weren't they? - flashed with a frosted veneer in his mind. A gloved hand pressed and prodded on his chest where the pain resonated moments ago in his memory, but his heavy jacket wasn't even cut, and no matter how much he prodded it, there was no ache or pain there. It must've been a dream…

"I'm sorry, father. I… I think I just need to lay down," Anduin looked up at the King with a sigh, expecting to find a scowl hand in hand with a disapproving look. But he didn't see any of the sort. His dark chestnut hair, drawn back to its normal messy ponytail, had turned into a field of snowflakes, and his blue eyes several shades darker than the prince's blithesome ones were overcast with a keeling concern.

"Here," Varian hastily unclasped the silver rivet attached to the front of his own long, heavy cloak, the outside made of a smooth velvet while the inside was lined with some kind of exotic fur imported from Ironforge. Fabric with craftsmanship befitting a king, he didn't think twice before pulling it from it his shoulders and draping it over his son's. Their size difference was almost comical, so much that his cloak could've served as a warming blanket for the prince had he chosen it to. "Anduin, you cannot do this! This isn't Pandaria! My appointment here is too important to be chasing you around, and the guards are already on tightened watches with so many Horde in the area. Please, Anduin, take pity and listen for once."

The hissing words felt more like a snap against the prince's cold cheek. Turning his face into the soft warmth of the cloak, the priest's argument froze and died on his tongue before he could fully let it form. The fur still carried the High King's body warmth and telltale scent - earthroot aftershave, plate armor polish, and tea - and he wasn't sure if it was having the heat or the calming smell of his parent that put his argument at rest. "I'm sorry," he repeated between chattering teeth. "I… I don't fully remember what happened but… I don't mean to cause an interruption or distraction for you. I know how important this is and want to partake in these-these proceedings. It's important that we-"

"Light, you're freezing. Come on." And he'd be freezing too, soon, if he didn't find shelter. The guards had finally made their way through the thick snow that came up to their knees, fighting their way to the father and son, with a worried druid in tow. But Varian didn't pause to let the Kal'dorei put his fretting at ease and look over the prince; placing a heavy hand on the teen's slightly shoulder, he carefully led him towards the lodge and graceful warmth it promised.

Anduin's unnatural quietness was what tipped him off that something wasn't right. The boy was a bundle of energy and excitement when the royal's arrived hours ago that morning, too excited to even unpack in their shared quarters and barely containable to receive briefings on the week-long meetings. Reparations would be determined, evacuation orders between factions in certain zones, and the daunting conversation regarding Garrosh's mysterious whereabouts. His evasion at his trial had only been a handful of weeks ago, and the unknown ate a hole in everyone's unease.

Approaching the large lodge, feeling two pairs of eyes on him, Varian glanced up to a wooden balcony overlooking the frozen lake, sprawling snow-covered forests, and haven of snowbanks the two royals had just come from. His fingers tightened instinctively around the half-stumbling prince's shoulder when his eyes met Vol'jin's pensive ones and hardly softened at meeting Thrall's.

While Jaina and Anduin swore of Thrall's honorable intentions and peaceful qualities, he refused to lower his guard. The Orc was the one who trusted Garrosh in the first place, who had been his mentor. In the King's mind, he carried a sliver of the blame.

The Lodge was an explosion of activity with a clashing of so many different races that Varian immediately felt his freehand reaching for Shalamayne. Night elves mixed with their Sin'dorei cousins in the communal dining hall, tauren sat amongst dwarves at the rustic bar tucked under the enormous staircase carved out of a single, giant tree trunk, and humans and orcs poured their attention over reports and books at the various meeting rooms specifically set up for the purpose of the summit. Guards of each faction and race could be found every few feet, patrolling to ensure no blows were to come and watching to determine which side initiated in the event that they did.

Snow blew in with the King of Stormwind, his son, and his small collection of personal guards as he stepped fully in, shaking his head in a poor attempt to rid himself of the snow that began to collect on him. His hand was still protectively placed on the teen's shoulder, interpreting his uncharacteristic silence and sapped energy as a sign that he needed to rest. And see a healer. Anduin might've been taught by Velen himself and ran all around Pandaria flexing his newfound abilities in the Light, but he was still, at the end of the day, a child.

His child.

"Your majesty! You found him!"

Grinning tightly at the elderly human in a woolly sweater that rushed towards them, Varian felt Anduin tense under his hand. But when he glanced down at the boy, Anduin was looking at the man, his chief chamberlain, who he'd known since his birth with a tired smile. "My apologies, Wyll. I didn't mean to cause a ruckus or distract from these proceedings. I… I fear I may have just… fell in the snow and hit my head."

Varian lifted an unconvinced brow. "Hit your head in the snow?"

The teen's cheeks exploded in a heated flush. "Or… Or something. Maybe one of the trees. I don't… I don't remember."

"Then right you are to get resting, your Highness," the elderly man chided in a good-natured tone, his warmth as infectious as Anduin's brilliant smile and benevolent habits that somehow managed to earn him friendship with anyone he came across. Some saw it as a virtue, but as his father, Varian only saw it as a vice. Somewhat worldly and traveled, Anduin was still painfully naive and unjaded to the ways of the world, seeing the best of people when even there wasn't any to be seen. His insistence that Hellscream had the ability to change was evidence enough of that. And evidence enough that his naive streak had jarring consequences.

Seeing movement out of the corner of his gaze, Varian glanced over in time to see Vol'jin and Thrall descend the ramp leading up to the outdoor mezzanine, their lingering distance - close enough to catch the High King's attention but far enough away to grant him privacy with his child - conveyed their unspoken hailing. "Wyll, if you could please take Prince Anduin back to our rooms and make sure that he is seen by a healer, and stays there for the remainder of the day, I would be most appreciative."

Though the chamberlain smiled and bowed obediently at the waist, the grim look in his smile told the King that even he doubted his ability to sequestered the curious prince to a single room for a few hours. The Lodge wasn't large and didn't grant even leaders the most luxurious of quarters. But comfortable with adapting to battlefront accommodations of a mere tent, Varian brokered no argument when he accepted the paltry hospitality. And as expected, Anduin didn't seem the least bit deterred in his excitement at having to share a room with his father.

"You're not coming with?"

In hindsight, in a few hours time when he'd be cradling his head in his hands and sickened with worry, Varian would look back and see that unnaturally clingy question from his son as the start that something was wrong.

Looking down, Varian frowned at the odd paleness that crept over Anduin's cheeks and stretched up into his blue eyes, making them lose their luster and seem duller. But it was the freckles of concern in the teen's youthful features that gave him a pause. Anduin wasn't one to want to be babysat, least of all by him. Independence was his most sought after meal he hungered for, decidingly brought on by his age. And Varian tried as much as he could, within reason, to give the priest more chances of it.

If it wasn't for feeling Vol'jin and Thrall's stare lingering on him, he would've listened to the small voice in the back of his head and followed the blonde back to their quarters. "No. I have a meeting with the council within the hour and the welcome dinner shortly after that. There's something else I need to see to immediately, though." He paused. "Are you ok, Anduin?"

The beryl irises turned distant for a split second, almost lifeless, making Varian's hand on the boy's shoulder stiffen. But with the blink of his eyes, they were back to normal. "I'm just tired," he mumbled lowly and ran his hand through his messy gilted bangs, disheveling them worse than they were before. "Resting and a hot bath should do me right. Maybe I'll try that… goblin shower contraption they were boasting about. One of us should be the test rat for it."

Varian grinned, only slightly relieved at his son's use of levity. "Knowing goblins, it might just be sparking before you get in. And if that's the case, I hope you have the sense not to."

Beginning to fight with the silver clasp on the cloak, Anduin shook his head. "Please at least come up with a better story to tell the nobles about my death, something with more dignity. Death by goblin shower sounds utterly pathetic."

"It would be the talk of the Houses for at least five years. Maybe six if we push it," Varian reached forward and clasped his larger hand over the prince's. "Keep it. I won't be going outside again. And Anduin…" he sighed heavily and dropped his hand to the side. "Please be more careful and aware of your surroundings. I chased you all over Pandaria for half a year. I'm not about to have a repeat in Winterspring. I think you've exhausted my patience where your adventures are a concern."

Grinning wryly, a sudden pain nestled between two of his ribs robbed Anduin of breath and words. Hissing as a stinging anguish swept through him, he instinctively pressed a hand against his burning chest, fingers pressing and exploring through the many layers of fabric. But even with prodding digits, the discomfort didn't change; it festered and ached like a scalding burn, feeling as though his skin was blistering away beneath the heated affliction.

"Anduin? Are you alright?"

Breathing through the pain at hearing his father's worried voice, Anduin quickly nodded. And just like that, in a matter of three breaths, the pain was suddenly chased away. He blinked rapidly, fingers continuing their fretless search but finding nothing amiss or out of sorts. There wasn't the familiar dull pain of a bruise, but he couldn't think of what else could've caused it. "I'm alright. I think I might've bruised something when I fell." Sensing the next words to come from his sire, Anduin lifted a hand. "And I am a healer, father. Sending in another healer is like… it's insulting. I'm not that tired that I can't see to it myself and I promise you that I will once I warm up."

Glancing over his shoulder, Varian found Vol'jin and Thrall still waiting for him, though the patience in their stances had diminished considerably. He could get in an argument with his son on the topic or relent and trust in his word; both avenues were tempting. A single father trudging through the murky, lightless trials of parenting a teenager, he was becoming better at recognizing smart fights with Anduin, though it often took deconstructing the situation with more finesse than it did planning the siege on Orgrimmar. Who knew the chaotic attitudes of teenagers could surmount up to Hellscream's might?

"I'll be back before supper to change," the High King began with a sigh that answered the boy more than his words did. "And if I - me, not you - decide that you look well enough to attend with me, then I'll allow it. In the meantime, I want you resting and when you're strong enough, heal what you can. And do not hesitate to call for me if you need something. Or a healer. Understood?"

A tired smile tugged on the prince's lips. "Yes, father."

As he embraced the boy quickly, careful about the amount of strength he used in his muscled arms around the teen's slender frame, Varian felt the stares from the Horde leader and Earthen Ring guardian watching him. Part of it was unnerving, but given they were standing in the main lobby of the lodge where the activity continued to prosper around them, he wouldn't be surprised if he arrested more attention than just the Orc's and Troll's. A regal man with a commanding presence and built stature, he rarely mixed in well with crowds. Only after watching Anduin weakly walk down the corridor and take the first turn to retreat back to their room did Varian finally turn towards the ramp behind him. Meticulously trained and unwaveringly loyal to their monarch, the guards immediately fell into the King's shadow as they followed him. But one plate-gloved hand rose up, signaling them to stay stationed a short distance away to grant their liege the luxury of a rare splinter of privacy.

Or as much privacy as he could manage in the middle of the lobby with arriving diplomats and leaders.

"Thrall, Warchief Vol'jin," Varian greeted in his typical booming tone saturated with command and warmed only just enough to suggest he wasn't a threat.

"King Varian Wrynn," Thrall greeted with an honored tilt of his head forward, though it wasn't returned from the human. Not that he was expecting it. His cerulean eyes framed by a pair of plaited raven-hued braids cascading down the front looked from the King over towards the corridor. "If I didn't know the trial was only weeks ago, I would've thought at least a year had passed by how much your son has grown."

Varian chuckled flatly, untouched by any attempt of familiar levity. "Teenagers have the habit of growing overnight. Now if only his curiosity didn't grow as well. He'll put me in an early grave at this rate."

Thrall didn't have to ask what the king was referring to. Their eyes had met outside, when he was returning to the lodge with the bundled up prince. "I was relieved that his brush with Sylvanas and Nathanos didn't create tensions. I'm hopeful to return soon to Nagrand after these meetings. Neither of us need the headache of dealing with a fight this early in the processions."

Schooled to maintain a staunch air of diplomacy and impassiveness even in the face of his adversaries, no matter the occasion, Varian fought to keep the trouble from etching into his features then. Seeing Vol'jin shift his weight unsteadily between his feet and look away told him he failed at the feat. "What brush with Sylvanas?"

Vol'jin exchanged a look with Thrall, unreadable for the most part but slathered in uncertainty and hesitation. "Tell me," the king growled, not liking the information being kept from him or the crawling feeling of disquiet clawing at his stomach.

"We be seein' 'im chatting wid' di Dark Lady and har ranger. Di Blightcaller," Vol'jin paused to look past Varian as the doors to the lodge opened and the blonde-hair Regent Lord of the Sin'dorei stepped in with an equally as blonde companion at his side, both of them looking none to pleased at the callous weather and their need of heavy winter gear. It was no secret anymore than the Sin'dorei had been a breath or two away of abandoning their faction to return to the Alliance colors they once honored decades ago, leaving their terms with the Horde unsavory in the troll's mind. He looked back to the High King with a sigh. "Yuh should chat wid' di boy. We only did see wah looked lakka argument. By di time we get tuh Sylvanas, we lost track ah where yuh boy was."

Thrall nodded slowly. "She claimed she was trying to have a private word with her ranger when the prince showed up."

Stumbling on a private conversation? Finding trouble? It all sounded very much like Anduin.

Sighing heavily and massaging the jagged scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, Varian nodded slowly. He made a silent point to seek out Sylvanas and offer his apology, assuming it was only an argument and she didn't lay hands on him. Dropping his hand from his face, feeling leagues older than he was, the King fought the billowing anger bubbling up in him. "I found Anduin unconscious in a snowbank, half frozen with near hypothermia," his tense voice danced the dangerous line of accusatory. "You're telling me he just had an 'argument' with Sylvanas and then conveniently passed out? Give me more credit than that, Warchief."

"If yuh be wantin' di full story, maybe yuh boy shud tell it. But if he not be tellin' di truth, look at who's at fault den. Yuh boy couldda been taken as a spy."

It took all of Varian's power not to draw Shalamayne. Suddenly he regretted his decision not to dismantle the Horde. Maybe it was the truth in his words that bothered him so much. "The prince will be questioned, as will Sylvanas. And hear me, troll, if I learn that my son was harmed in any way, the Alliance won't be showing nearly as much clemency as I was originally willing when it comes time to determine reparations."

Spinning around on his heels, the High King didn't wait for a response, denying them that chance and respect and favoring them with the resoluteness of his back. It was dishonorable and snubbing, but with his emotions as bothered as they were, he didn't care. The Horde ought to be thankful for him even agreeing to stomach the weeks worth of meetings. It was a courtesy that he was allowing the Horde leaders to partake in the discussions regarding war reparations and terms, when he could've came up with the terms on his own from the comforts of Stormwind and his office, submitting them and demanding unwavering compliance.

Thrall sighed defeatedly as he watched Varian stomp off. How Anduin, a harbinger of peace to such an extent he believed there to be goodness in a man who broke every bone in his body, could be a son of the High King, the Orc couldn't fathom.

"I be havin' a bad feelin' about dis."

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**I survive on donuts and reviews! With luck, I'll try to post an update soon(tm). **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you guys so much for the reviews and kind words! This story is coming along pretty well; I'm hoping to have the whole thing wrapped up in a week (fingers crossed!). It's not one of my longer works but a fun little idea I had rolling around in my head. **

**Happy Reading! **

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After retreating to their room and somehow convincing Wyll that he wasn't about to collapse from a little time left outside in the elements, Anduin was granted some much needed solitude. And yet, at the same time, he didn't want it. Even as he undressed with painfully slow limbs that felt gawkish and uncoordinated, he didn't like the idea of being alone. But he didn't want a guard stationed at his door watching his every move with emotionless, calculating eyes trained to look for threats to the royal family. And neither did he want his chamberlain fretting over him and trying to find the impossible balance of adhering to his King's word and his prince's rebelling attitude. That middle ground rarely existed.

No, Anduin wanted his father there.

Draping the king's borrowed cloak on his neatly made bed, Anduin lingered there as he fought with the juvenile emotions and wants. He was fifteen years old, hardly a child anymore in need of a parent's comforting words and touch, and more than capable of caring for himself. Less than a year ago, he'd managed to travel over the rolling hills and infested lands of Pandaria without a word from his father, often times even evading the king's half-decent attempts of tracking him down and dragging him back to Stormwind. But this was different. He couldn't pinpoint the reason or why, but a panicked, aching sensation began to boil in his stomach, making him long for the surety of his father who knew how to handle the worst of situations.

Swallowing back the childish whims, Anduin glanced around their shared room. Delightfully small, it carried all the whimsical essences of any Kal'dorei lodge with dark woods, thick blankets and woolen linens to fight back the chill, a small hearth set into the wall, and a gracious paneless window that held back the outside chill thanks to strong arcane enchantments. Two beds in the typical Night Elven four-poster design were tucked a little to closely together for his comfort, but their Kal'dorei allies favored communal settings, especially among kin and family. Hours ago when the royals first arrived in the town, Anduin had boisterously claimed the bed nearest the window, wanting an unobstructed view of the snowcapped mountain range enclosed around the lodge. Now, he couldn't find the strength to much care where he slept.

Shedding himself of his clothes and leaving them where they fell, he stumbled into the bathroom. It wasn't particularly large, either, but large enough for the week there. Though there was a narrow bathtub with taps that would enchant the water to a hot temperature, he wanted to test out the goblin shower they bragged so much about. But his energy sapped his enthusiasm, and he could barely show more than an idle glance at the shower head that rained down a cascade of hot water.

Anduin didn't know how long he was in the shower. His limbs were beginning to struggle to cooperate with him, feeling heavy from one movement to the next, and at one point he had to place his forehead against the tiles to catch his breath. It was only for a moment, he thought, that he stood there with the waters rushing down his body in a torrent and waited for the heat to warm his chilled bones. It was slow to happen, though, and ultimately never did. That chill permeated and refused to be chased away, making him shiver even under near scorching hot shower.

"Anduin?"

The familiar baritone voice made his eyes snap open and pull his head away from the wall. His father was back already? Reaching for the tap to turn it off, an odd scaliness to his fingertips made him stop and look down at his hands. They were a lighter shade than the rest of his body and covered in the pruniness brought on by water, but so severe that his skin looked ready to flake off. Maybe he'd been careless with the temperature. Or maybe the goblin contraption really was as faulty as the rest of their 'doodads'. Surely he wasn't in the shower for more than a few minutes.

Quickly turning off the rush of water, he grabbed a towel hung from a peg and wrapped it around his waist. "Just a second!" He winced at his hoarse voice, but wasn't given much time to dwell on it before he was nearly doubled over in a sudden coughing fit. His lungs felt on fire and the pain in his chest from before suddenly flared with renewed anguish. Wincing and whimpering between coughs, he pressed a hand against his chest, fingers digging between his ribs to try to reach whatever was causing it. A bruise, he assumed. But even as his fingertips illuminated with the gentle call of the Light and warmth filled his body, the pain mocked it and only turned more vicious. A hand planted itself on the bathroom wall to steady himself as the coughs grew more desperate and his lungs suddenly seized at their inability to draw in breath.

Strong hands on his shoulders pulled him from the bathroom, he was distantly aware, and guided him until the backs of his legs felt the sudden comfort of the edge of the bed.

And then, just like that, the coughs suddenly stopped in tandem with the burning pain in his chest. The alarming sensation of drowning was gone and he hungrily sucked in breath after breath of precious air to fill his deprived lungs. If not for the hands still holding his shoulders, he doubted he'd have the energy to stay upright.

Cracking pained, blue eyes open, Anduin's fuzzy vision somehow managed to clear itself as Varian's face came into focus, the king kneeling in front of him with scarred features pinched in concern and worry. "Are you alright? By the Light, Anduin…"

Before he could answer, Varian dropped one of his hands from the teen's shoulder and brushed his fingers against the spot between his ribs that had just arrested him in pain. "Did Sylvanas do this? _Answer me_."

Blinking in confusion, his mind feeling sluggish and slow, Anduin glanced down at his father's ungloved fingers circling a spot on his naked chest. A cacophony of brutal blues brushed with painful reds marred the skin there, looking to be the start of a nasty bruise the size of two fingers width. "Sylvanas? I… I don't know. I don't remember…" His mouth felt dry and he fought to keep his thoughts coherent. Furrowing his brows, Anduin looked back at his father's fuming face. "What-what happened to the council and the meetings? I thought… you were busy."

Varian gave him narrowed, odd look. "What of it? Council meeting was largely uneventful. Posturing as expected and a briefing on the topics that would be discussed later in the week. I told you I'd be returning before supper. Which you won't be going to. In fact, I'm going to be sending a healer in here to check on you, and I don't want to hear a _word_ out of you about it. So save us the argument and- Anduin, are you ok?"

The prince was staring out the window. The yawning floor to ceiling window that had once given him a picturesque view of the late morning snow fields right before he went in for his shower. His shower that was only a few minutes.

The night sky smiled back at him with an impressive canvas of studded stars and flooding moonlight that illuminated the snow.

Hours. Hours must've passed.

"Som-something's wrong," his voice cracked at the words and he looked down at his shaking hands. "I don't remember… I don't remember what happened before you found me outside. I don't remember what happened this afternoon. I feel… something is off. Something is wrong."

Varian was on his feet in an instant, and distantly Anduin heard the door be pulled open so rough the hinges threatened to be yanked from their beds in the wall. The world around him seemed to turn into a nauseating kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, each one mixing together and making his head spin and vision swarm. Clenching his eyes shut to try to stop the lurching vertigo, he thought he heard Varian yelling something, not at him but another, in his commanding voice like when he addresses his lieutenants. But it all felt and sounded miles away.

A second familiar voice joined his father's, this time closer to him. He felt two pairs of hands pulling him to the bed and laying him down; one pair was rough and calloused and large like his father, and the other were thin and spindly, deceiving frail with age but more than capable he knew.

"Just rest, Prince Anduin."

The spinning sensation was brought to a sudden standstill as a familiar radiance in the Light, so strong he could only hope to one day replicate its intensity, flooded his mind and body. The darkness lingering on the edge of his periphery lunged forward and dragged him into its maw.

It was the divine bell all over again. Only this time Varian was forced to stand behind Velen feeling as helpless as he could be as both parent and king to his ailing son. The Draenei hands basked sharp brilliance of Light into the unconscious teen lying listless on his bed, brought into a state of fabricated unconsciousness thanks to the priest's fast healing. Unparalleled in his affinity in the Light and a previous mentor to his son, Varian hadn't hesitated in ordering his guards to get Velen from his own private quarters. Looking surprised at first when he approached, Velen had rushed to the prince's side when he got one look at him.

"What's wrong with him? Is it sickness from the cold? Did he catch something when he was outside? I don't know how long he was out there. Maybe a few hours. He shouldn't have left his guards when he did! I _told_ him to stay at the lodge and with me. Light, had he just _listened_ for once in his short life, he could've-"

"King Varian, pray have peace," the Draenei mumbled quietly as his steepled fingers flooded with a near blinding light cascaded gently over the sleeping youth's torso, lingering over the oddly shaped and colored bruise. When the light drew nearer, the priest frowned as the blue began to turn darker and the skin slowly started to bubble with sudden blisters. The sickened sensation rolled from the boy into Velen, making him hiss in return and sharply draw his hands away. "He's afflicted with a disease. Unnatural and not worldly. It feels like… the blight. A strain of it, perhaps."

Varian's blood turned cold. "The blight? Where would he get that? We're in Winterspring, for Light's sake, not Northrend!"

Velen let the Light drain from his proverbial and physical hands, waiting until the golden radiance on his hands was completely doused before gently pressing on the grisly mark blemishing Anduin's chest. "To ask where is the wrong question, your Majesty. 'Who' is a more appropriate start."

"He's been with me nearly all day! Save for when-" The king's eyes narrowed to half-moon slits, the concern being chased away by anger and the thirst for rampage. "I'll kill her myself…"

With unfaltering patience and an odd calmness about him that almost suggested Velen knew the answer to his questions before Varian spoke, he turned slightly at the robed waist to regard the High King with a pensive look. When he spoke, he did so with brutal honesty, knowing his words wouldn't be easy to deliver, but spoke them with the evenness that his station demanded. "If not for the sake of this summit then for the sake of your child, hold your sword and your temper, Varian. The Light's strength is not stalwart against the blight, despite our best efforts. It is possible that whatever strain grips his life may be weaker, but there is no guarantee."

Stepping alongside the bed, Varian grabbed the edge of the blanket and managed to drag it over his son's sleeping form. Though covered by the towel still wrapped at his hips, he'd need more covering than that. And the paternal instincts that normally lay so dormant and untouched were roaring with life, shared by both his personalities. "I will _not _lose my son to this."

"I will stay with him and try to heal as much as I can, as much as his body will let me. It is early on in development so chance of interruption before it can fully become staged is high. But I'm sure that Sylvanas has the means through her alchemists to provide an antidote. At the very least, if she were to tell us more on the strain, we can steep it ourselves. Once it fully matures, though, there will be no-"

"I'll get the antidote or information," Varian snapped back and tightened the brace holding Shalamayne against his back.

* * *

The dining hall favored the rest of the Kal'dorei's knack of communal living with dozens of long tables taking up the expansive chambers. Food was served in platters against the walls in a buffet, encouraging a mealtime co-mingling between patrons. For some, it was relaxing and laidback and free of stifling high class affairs. For others, the thought of standing in a communal line for food between potential enemies was daunting enough to chase away hunger.

The welcoming feast was in fullswing, though the head table had three place settings that remained vacant and untouched, drawing questioning glances towards the seats. Jaina and Genn had exchanged concerned looks and words, not finding the lack of Varian, his dangerously curious son, and one of the strongest priest's a coincidence in the least. Even disconcerted looks were shared at the Horde headtable, Thrall glancing uneasily at Vol'jin but the warchief's expression remained painfully neutral. It was not the way to start out the summit.

Heavy plated boots thundered down the main aisle, drawing some glances but the din of the dining hall was explosive enough to almost mask his approach. Almost.

Varian didn't stop or slow as he approached the Horde head table, not even when the orc guards stiffened in warning though none of them reached for their weapons. As hated as the humans were among the Orcish ranks, his election not to dismantle their honored faction had elevated his name and status marginally among their bramble. They regarded him with skeptical looks but moved their hands off their weapons, though that proved to be a mistake.

The High King stopped directly behind the seated Forsaken leader who was leaned slightly to the side, listening to something her lapdog ranger was whispering into one of her elongated ears. But the conversation was brought to an abrupt end as a thick hand with the strength rivaling any orcs reached around and grabbed at her throat, plated fingers digging brutally into her windpipe and dragging her out of her seat and away from the table in one fel swoop.

The momentary peace shattered in a second.

But Varian ignored the Horde guards that clashed with his own, ignored the screams from Vol'jin and Jaina, ignored the quiet laughing from Lor'themar, ignored everyone and everything around him except for the words from Velen. Except for the sight of his only son lying on the bed, fighting for his life.

With an unfaltering vice grip, he slammed her against the wall, not caring at the sound of the wood buckling behind her or the growl of pain slip past her deadened maw. Within seconds, Shalamayne was pulled from her resting bed and the cold steel of her lip was pressed against the banshee's grey neck. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, creating the perfect symphony to encourage him to simply end her revolting existence. Lo'gosh roared, urging him to do it, but logic quieted him.

"If it wasn't for the fact that I need that antidote, you would be killed a second and final time, wench. To hell with diplomacy," he hissed, his feral eyes narrowing on her glowing scarlet ones. "Give me what I need and I'll spare your pathetic life for now."

Her eyes creased as a smile pulled at her grey lips and a taunting laugh rumbled past them. "I see you've gotten my gift, King Varian. This is no way to repay me. What father would not want their child to live on forever." Her smile widened. "Well, maybe less so the living part."

The sword was pressed sharper against her. "I swear on my life, Sylvanas, the next words out of your mouth better be the antidote, or else I'll-"

"-Or else you'll what?" She taunted, canting her head to the side. "Kill me? Then what? You'll be given a few days, maybe two if you're lucky, before the disease takes him and he'll be raised anew. Don't worry, Varian, I am so very charitable. He'll retain those boyish looks of his even in death, for the rest of his days. On my side."

"Varian, enough!"

"What be di meanin' of dis?"

Jaina and Vol'jin's voices broke through the white-hot rage seething in Varian's mind, clouding his thoughts and begging him for retribution. He was the High King, had rebuilt his kingdom from utter chaos and destruction, had led countless successful wars, had brought prosperity and wealth to his people, had ended tyrants and global threats to their world and beyond. And yet, he couldn't do the simple thing of keeping his own son safe.

Baring his teeth with an angry snarl, now having drawn the entirety of the dining hall's attention, he dropped the Forsaken and took a step back. Shalamayne glimmered with encouraging light that yearned for as much bloodshed as its owner, but he pulled the sword from her to turn to Vol'jin's bewildered face. "An attack has been made on my son, the crown prince. A child. You have until tomorrow at sunrise to procure me the antidote. If he dies," his voice shook just barely, so tense and low it came out more like a feral growl than a litany of words, "the Alliance declares war on the Horde. And this time, you will not be shown clemency."

He left a stunned dining hall behind, teetering as uncertainly as his son's life on the brink of war.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm sorry this is a really short chapter T.T BUT we're so far, so good on schedule _*fingers crossed* _**

* * *

Reaching his chambers, Varian closed his eyes and lingered in the hall right outside of the bedroom. He steeled his nerves and woodened his resolve, preparing himself for whatever lay inside the room waiting for him. Sylvanas said they had at most two days; two days to find a fix to this, two days to pull Anduin away from a premature death that no child his age should have to face. For years, Varian had shepherded as much as he could of Anduin's days, longing only to keep the boy out of harm's way and ensure his safety. It was stupid to bring him. He should've just dealt with the teenage tantrum and told Anduin he was done allowing him to step into caustic affairs. Garrosh's trial was bad enough, and he still berated himself for failing as a parent by allowing the prince to be there.

Clearly that had been as bad of a decision as this.

Taking in a shaky breath, he opened the door without knocking and stepped inside.

A sigh of relief that nearly made him fall to his knees swept out of his lungs as he saw Anduin sitting up in bed talking to Velen seated beside him. Though the boy looked beyond spent, exhaustion pulling at his features and making him look unnaturally flaxen with dark circles under his eyes, to see him awake and breathing gave Varian a renewed sense of fight. He'd find an antidote. And if not, he'd personally level each of the Horde capitals in his wrath, sparing no expense on military measures and showing no mercy even if they begged.

From the forced smile that filled Anduin's face at seeing the High King, he knew Velen had told him everything.

"How do you-"

"I feel fine," the prince hastily replied, though they both grinned grimly, seeing it for the lie that it was. "I.. I'm tired and breathing is difficult. But Velen's helped much with that and… and I think maybe once my body is willing to take more of the Light in, I'll be able to fight this."

Trying not to show his doubt in front of his son out of fear of shattering his spirits - spirits that'd need to stay elated as he faced an uphill battle - Varian shot a glance at Velen, trying to read the reality of the situation from the venerable Draenei's features. But that was hopeless; the aged priest was meticulous with his emotions, keeping them impossibly in check and tucked inward.

"He'll need much rest," Velen began as he gracefully pressed himself up from the small chair, rearranging his robes as he rose to his full, towering height. "But Anduin is strong and the Light adores him so. I will not lead you in disillusions, though, neither of you. It is a strong disease and I cannot tell you the chances for outcomes. That lies with his body now. But I will be back on the hour to check on him and attempt to give him more healing." He turned more pointedly at the boy. "And _no_ healing yourself. Or even attempting it, Anduin. You must retain your strength."

The prince lowered his head in a bowed gesture. "Thank you, Velen. I don't know how I shall ever repay yo-"

"And nor should you ever," the Draenei sharply cut him off with a warm smile before turning to the High King. "It is unwise to move him in his state, so if it would be more comfortable, I can request different accommodations for you so that I do not disturb you throughout the night."

Varian sharply shook his head. "I'm not leaving my son." His voice and expression softened as the priest moved towards the door. "Thank you for your help in this. I've given the Horde until sunrise to give me an antidote. Whether they do or not, that's to be seen. The ultimatum may encourage Vol'jin to take a more commanding stance."

Velen didn't question what the ultimatum was, nor did he have to. Seeing the sheer determination of a worried father told him all he needed to know. "No matter the outcome, King Varian, I shall support you."

Words dried up in the High King's throat at the implications in the Draenei's comment. It was a loaded oath of fealty, touching on the dreary, anguished potential for his son's far to soon demise. No, he wouldn't even consider it. It wasn't going to happen.

"I will see you in the hour."

Nodding once as the priest left, Varian paused with his back to his son, feeling his stare on him. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he _could _say. All he knew was a harsh mixing of rage and concern bathing together, the potency so high he was tempted to slaughter as many Forsaken as he could. The guards would stop him, maybe even kill him. But if his son was already gone, he'd have no care anymore or drive to live on. Where the word was dark and dreary, Anduin was the light that he always found illuminating in the darkest of corners. His benevolence flirted with his naive traits, but that benevolence was refreshing and innocent, reminding Varian that there was still good in a world tainted with hatred and constant warfare. Out of everyone on Azeroth, for the teen to be struggling for his life was unfair and cruel. He didn't deserve it, just as he didn't deserve suffering all of his bones being shattered by a bell, just as he didn't deserve being kidnapped by a dragon and nearly killed by her.

"Father… I'm sorry."

Varian closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Slowly turning around, he said nothing at first as he approached, his eyes unable to meet the glassiness of his child's. Moving to sit on the edge of his bed, facing the boy, he slowly unclasped the buckles on his plate gloves and slid them off. His hands were scarred and calloused from fights and warfare, of battles won. "It's me that should be apologizing," he began in a quiet voice. "I can lead campaigns to kill the Lich King, overcome Garrosh, fight in Outlands. But I can't save my own son."

A smaller hand reached forward, grabbing onto one of his. Varian looked up and almost lost himself at the tearful gaze resting on him. "I'm going to be fine, father. I promise you."

He smiled ruefully and fought back the emotion clawing up his throat. "You were always a horrible liar. But in this instance, I wish you weren't."

Anduin said nothing for a few moments, only relishing the feel of the larger, warmer hand holding his. "If… If something does happen…. You have to promise me that you won't do-"

"Anduin…"

"_Please_. For me. Promise me that. Promise me that you won't… you won't… go to war for this. We've had enough fighting and killing, and making more of it won't be the answer."

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Varian looked down at the smaller hand so much different from his own. But that's how Anduin was; where the High King hungered for peace through conquest and war, the prince sought it through diplomatic ways. A pacifist and selfless even in the end, the King shook his head. "I can't make that promise, Anduin."

The fingers curled around the scarred ones. "Then I'll be sure to live."

* * *

"We cannot let this continue. There is no honor in this! He is a child, Vol'jin! A boy!"

"A boy that happens to be the crown prince and on the eve of inheriting the throne, I'll point out. I should be thanked, I should be rewarded. I shouldn't have to answer to the orc that ran from the Horde and put a tyrant in his stead!"

"_Enough_!"

The room full of Horde leaders and advisors turned silent at the troll's booming voice. It was far into the night, the moon long past having reached its zenith and the hour ticking past midnight. The emergency meeting had been called immediately following the eventful dinner, bringing the different leaders to conjoin in a private room tucked on the main level of the lodge. Irony at its best, it was one of the rooms purposed to encourage the fostering of peace between the factions over the course of the week. Now it was repurposed to attempt to stave off a war.

Vol'jin leaned back in a chair and looked around the room quietly. Sylvanas and Thrall were nearly at each other's necks, no longer able to sit quietly in their seats and just barely holding their wits from reaching for their weapons. In hindsight, he should've had them leave them at the door with the guards. Her chief ranger, Nathanos, sat stiffly in the chair as he watched with intense scarlet eyes, reading his body language and waiting for the threat to heighten before he pounced. Baine sat far away from both of them, his face cast in concern and bother; it'd become well-known during the trial that the Tauren chieftain thought fondly of Anduin, something that would need to be addressed at some point. Further from him sat Lor'themar and Brightwing, both of them favoring a couch tucked against the window and mostly offset from the rest of the group. The two elves had said next to nothing during the meeting with the disconcerting exception of their whispered Thalassian words to each other. Gallywix didn't seem to care, giving a few noncommittal grunts and kept a close vigil on the clock as the meeting churned into the night.

"If we be doin' nothin' and di boy dies, di Horde is forced back inna war. A war we aren't prepared tuh fight. Nuh so close afta Garrosh," Vol'jin's voice came out neutral. In truth, he didn't care at all whether the human boy lived or died. But he did care about the integrity of their faction, and he saw a vicious firestorm from a mile away.

"Afraid of a little war, _War_chief?" Sylvanas mocked with a lopsided grin. "This will be the best opportunity we have then. Wrynn's whelp will be turned on our side, Stormwind will have no heir, and Varian will be devastated, hardly fit to run a kingdom, let alone a war."

"You think Varian is going to roll over in depression when you kill his only son?" Thrall snarled back. "You're going to bring an end to an already wartorn people who are just beginning to recover!"

Taking a breath, Lor'themar pressed himself to his feet, followed by Brightwing. "I've heard quite enough," he began in an accented Orcish, his tongue always having preferred the human's Common to their people's relatively new allies. "Should you choose this route, Warchief, it is your decision to do so. But the Sin'dorei will not stand with you in that war. We were near forced to follow one tyrant with ill-conceived thoughts, and I'll not damn my people to follow another."

"Traitor," Sylvanas hissed, turning on the twin blood elves. "Not that it should surprise us much. Is this all just a convenient time for you, Lor'themar? Missing your human companions?"

"It's sanity and sound logic that I miss, Sylvanas," he replied back in a deadpanned tone. "One bloodcrazed royal laying ruin to our city was enough. I'm not eager to find myself in Wrynn's path."

Lingering his gaze on the Sin'dorei for a beat or two, Vol'jin looked down at the table, praying to find some kind of answers hidden there. With a sigh, he looked up at Thrall. "And yuh? Where duh yuh allegiances lie?"

A silence consumed the room, all eyes expectantly waiting on shaman that helped save their world and their faction countless times, led their people into conquest and out of slavery, and find flourishment in a desolate lands where there shouldn't have been any. "When I first demanded an audience with Grommash Hellscream, I was presented with a human child. A boy, the son of farmers. I was told to kill him to show my devotion to the Orcs and that I wasn't a human sympathizer after a lifetime with them. But I refused, for while he was a human and could very well take up arms against us in the heat of battle, I would not kill him outside of it. Let him grow and step foot in that battle, if that is his destiny, was my response, and I would kill him then. But killing a defenseless child has no honor, and I refuse as much today as I did then."

Nodding slowly, Vol'jin tapped his finger a few times on the table. "Sylvanas, I order yuh tuh deliver di antidote tuh his father by di mornin'. Di Horde will not follow dis warpath for yuh personal pleasures."

Snarling as Nathanos rose, Sylvanas slowly shook her head. "I refuse. And when he dies and you realize how foolish you all were, I'll be accepting your apologies and rewards. Until then..." With a sharp flick of her wrist, gesturing for the ranger to fall into step with her, the banshee swept from the room in an angered rush.

"If I may," Lor'themar stepped forward, his fel-tainted eyes lingering on the opened doorway of where the forsaken retreated from and hesitated, waiting to see if she'd come storming. After a few moments, the Regent Lord took a deep breath and squared his regal shoulders, his stance always seeming to permeate his pristine mannerisms. "The Scar in Quel'thalas has allowed our alchemists and scholars the rare opportunity to study the blight rather intimately. There have been some successful cases of medicines being fermented to fight off early onset of the disease. It's not always perfect and requires the overseeing of a trained healer but it is close to an antidote."

Thrall spoke before Vol'jin could address him, already reading the situation and seeing the glimmer of hope. "If you can get the items and bring them here, I can do the rest. We'll need it by sunrise, however."

The Sin'dorei leader didn't look the least bit perplexed at the timeframe. "A portal can be made to Silvermoon immediately. I'll have it to you by dawn."

After hours of preparing for the potential onset of a war when they should've been entertaining notions of an accord and peace, the meeting was adjourned and Thrall began his trek back to his own chambers to prepare for the morning. It would be exhausting, to say the least, his own experience with the disease profoundly limited and mostly only having heard of its ill effects. To fight it with his harnessing of the elements would be asking his deity for new strengths, but he wasn't intimidated by the task.

Crossing the lodge's main foyer that now lay empty and barren, all of the diplomats and advisors having retreated to the comfortable confines of their rooms and waiting to see what the next day would bring, Thrall didn't expect to see anyone. A comfortable silence would've suited him just fine, allowing him the luxury to fight with his thoughts and bolster his confidence when it began to wane. It wasn't the elements that he doubted but his own prowess in funneling their strengths.

About to take a turn down a corridor, a familiar streak of chestnut hair caught his attention, making the Orc pause. Drawing slightly closer, Thrall felt his hammering heart still in his chest at the sight before him, a sight that shattered his own military mind in seeing some advantages of what Sylvanas said, and making his own personal narrative come to the forefront of his thoughts.

Sitting in a far alcove in the barren lobby, dressed without the normal imposing armor that suited him like a second skin, was King Varian Wrynn. And if it wasn't for the telltale long ponytail of messy brown hair and his notoriously broad shoulders, the Orc might've just passed him off as another human. It wasn't the fact that he was there that made Thrall pause; it was the defeated sight that told him he wasn't looking at a King fretting for the continued bloodline of his House and people, but a father worrying about the delicate life of his child.

The king didn't see him. His face was covered by his hands that he slumped forward into, fingers curled angrily into the strands of renegade hair that fell around his face. Those broad shoulders that were strong enough to carry the weight of plate pauldrons quaked as silent sobs wracked his body. And in that moment, Thrall's mind immediately went to Aggra and his own toddler son. To his family that he swore to protect beyond anything in the world or the next. His offspring was a mere child and innocent to the ways of war, and if Thrall could help it, he'd keep it that way. But he wasn't a pawn to be moved across board or exploited for leverage. And at least in Thrall's case, he was given the peace of mind that he could keep his son safe by keeping his presence and whereabouts out of the public eye.

Varian wasn't given that luxury. Anduin's very existence and life was watched from the moment he took his first breath.

Nodding slowly to himself, Thrall turned quietly away from the scene, granting the father back his privacy and dignity, and hurried in the direction of his rooms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you again for the reviews!**

* * *

As promised, Velen had come by the hour and tried as much as he could to flood the teen's weak body with the divine grace of the Light. But by the fourth hour, Anduin's body had turned so frail and weak, he struggled to lift his head on his own. By the fifth hour, his labored breathing had the most unsettling gurgling sound to it, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he fought for each breath. And it was in that hour that when Velen was about to leave the royal chambers, he caught Varian's red-rimmed eyes and shared a grim look with him. The outlook had taken a turn, and the boy's body could sustain little more.

He'd come and gone on the sixth hour as promised, but the Light did nothing to ease Anduin's suffering. The infected site on his chest blistered rottenly with raised postulates filled with a sickly black substance, the size getting worse and worse each time he tried to heal him. On the seventh hour, when the sun was just beginning to creep up on the horizon, it wasn't Velen that knocked on the door.

The sound of his guards arguing with someone dragged Varian from morose thoughts, seated beside his ailing son as he fought to breathe. The argument was a good distraction for him from watching Anduin's chest rise and fall, waiting and dreading when it wouldn't rise again.

Unshaven with black stubble covering his face, unbathed and still wearing his clothes from the day prior, he was sure he looked as much of a mess as he felt, but he didn't care. Pulling the door open to his bedroom, he stopped short and blinked at finding an Orc arguing with one of his guards to let him in, while a Sin'dorei stood a short yet safe distance away, content to convey his displeasure with a heated glare at the guards.

"Thrall? Lor'themar? If you're here to beg on Sylvanas's behalf, you're wasting your breath and my precious time. My words were ironclad - bring me what I need or-"

"We have it," Thrall quickly cut him off, lifting a small leather sack cradled in his arms much too large for a mere vial of medicine. Behind him, the Regent Lord carried a small hookah with one pipe already attached. "Let us see the boy. It will take time to do this and I need space." Seeing the hesitation on the King's face, Thrall gave him a stern look. "We do not have time for you to question us."

A sudden cough behind him made him shove the door open more graciously and usher the two in. There was no hesitation in their steps, each one moving with purpose and intent. One of the guards made to follow but stopped when Varian lifted a halting hand and solidified his decision by slamming the door on the guard's face. If the Horde wanted to finish the job in the wake of his son's death, he welcomed it.

"Where's Sylvanas?" He asked as he drew tense at watching them both approach Anduin on either side of his bed.

"Tantruming in her rooms."

Varian raised a brow at the Sin'dorei's deadpanned response. It answered his question on why the antidote didn't come from her, and while he wanted to know more of the discord, he didn't dare ask them. He couldn't find the will or want to know; his hunger for revenge had gone stale in the daunting eve of his only son's impending death. Whatever the Banshee's faction sought to do with her in the interim, while Anduin still lived, Varian didn't care. Stepping with the thundering steps he normally took, he quickly stood beside Thrall, protectively wanting to be near his son in the presence of the Horde. "He's been getting worse," he quietly mumbled, watching Anduin's sleeping, pale face struggle for another breath. "He fights to just breathe."

"That's how it takes you," Lor'themar replied in a cold tone as he began to set up the hookah on the floor, readjusting the pipe's valve to ensure the flow was right. "His lungs are likely filling with the blight now. The herbs will open his airways enough for Thrall to heal it and force it from his body."

Varian was quiet as he watched the Orc open the leather satchel and pull out several stems of dried herbs, crunching them up and mixing in a bowl before handing them over to Lor'themar. Part of him was tempted to call for Velen, for he trusted the priest without despair to handle his beloved son. And yet here he was, well within arms reach of two he once waged war against moving swiftly to try to save his son's life. He could only imagine the lecture he'd get from Anduin when he'd wake up, spewing on and on about how differences could be cast aside and peace could be sought if they only wanted to find it.

Varian blinked. _When he wakes up_. _When_. It was no longer an _if_.

The realization almost made a sob choke up his throat, but he caught it at the last second and turned away from the trio, hand rubbing over his scarred features as he looked out the window. "Thank you. Both of you."

Seeing Lor'themar light the coals in the bottom of the hookah out of the corner of his gaze, Thrall gently placed a hand behind Anduin's head and glanced over at Varian. He saw the despair and sleep deprivation, the worry that haunted his eyes, but he also saw hope. "As a guardian of the Earthen Ring, it is my duty to ensure the welfare of others." He paused and gently lifted the boy's head up slightly as Lor'themar adjusted the pipe valve again. A steam of heavily scented herbs, stringent and medicinal, billowed out of it. "As a father, I am doing only what I would hope another would offer my son."

Turning slightly back towards him, Varian caught his stare and held it for a few seconds. The unspoken exchange was there, more paramount and lasting than any meeting or discussion that could've happened over the week. And only after he was sure he conveyed his thanks enough did the High King intensely watch the procedure being done on his son.

The hookah pipe had to be held gently in Anduin's mouth as he breathed in the steam, Lor'themar ensuring the flow was robust enough while Thrall watched the teen's fighting breaths. It didn't take more than a few minutes before a round of hacking coughs whipped through the boy, making the hookah immediately get pulled back and Thrall turn Anduin carefully on his side. Despite how much grace and poise the Sin'dorei seemed to possess, Lor'themar didn't make a sound or look disgusted as he expectantly placed a bowl beside the prince's mouth and collected the sticky, black phlegm that flooded from him.

"What… is that?" Varian was immediately at his son's side, his hands carefully holding his shoulders.

"The blight," Lor'themar replied, continuing to watch the teen cough up another round of it. "It will take some time for him to fully recover, but the fact that he's getting this much up at all is already an encouraging sign."

Thrall waited until the coughs died down before slowly rolling Anduin on his back again and placed his large hands over the boy's chest, their size more than capable of curling around the side of his torso to inflict as much harm as he was healing. "I'll need to see him several times a day for the next week to re-strengthen his lungs. I don't suggest moving him back to Stormwind until at least a week's time. A portal will be too much on his body now."

Sweeping his fingers along Anduin's forehead to brush the blonde bangs out of his face, Varian nodded stiffly. "I'll inform the guards to allow you entrance as needed," he quietly replied. "As much as I would like to remain at his side, and I intend to as much as I can, the summit will require my attention at times. The guards will allow you passage."

An unspoken question was answered then, the impending threat of war having been dissolved in the face of hope and joy of his son's state. They said little more to each other after that, though not out of uncanniness but a comfortable silence that fell on them. After a few hours, Lor'themar excused himself first, content that the boy had been yanked away from the edge of death now that his breathing was more regular and stronger.

When Varian thanked him another time, the Sin'dorei paused, grim-faced, and looked back over his shoulder at the boy. "I don't have any children and so I won't pretend to know your plight or understand you. But I know that children, no matter their birth and station, are not harbingers of their parents decisions or indecisions. We bear arms to protect them and promise to protect their innocence. If that is forgotten, so too have we forgotten why we fight."

* * *

It was the next day that Varian, operating on less than an hour of sleep in the past two days, felt all hope restored.

Having returned from a particularly dreary meeting discussing the reparation sum for Ashenvale, he paused when he first opened the door to his chambers. Thrall's voice was one he expected to hear, having walked in on several occasions to find the Orc talking to a still sleeping Anduin. But what he didn't expect to hear was the weak voice that replied to him.

He crossed the threshold faster than he could remember. Sitting up with the help of a generous stack of pillows behind him, Anduin turned to his father just in time before the High King bent down and threw his heavy arms around the slightly frame. There was no hesitation from the boy, not when he felt the familiar warmth of his father's embrace or the smells that were distinctly him, both notions drawing him to a place of comfort and ease. And while he wanted to remain strong in front of the High King and Thrall still seated beside him, he couldn't manage it. The emotions spilled from him as fast as his tears did, running down and staining his cheeks. His shoulders must've given away his crying, for the arms around him tightened.

Rarely before had Varian been faced with such atrocities and threat that he experienced the unlikely feeling of fear and dread. Not when he was in the Crimson Ring. Not when he was battling at the Wrathgate. Not even when he was dealing with Onyxia to save his son. His proficiencies as a father mirrored far to closely to that of his masteries as a warrior and king, when he could confront an enemy with the surety of steel in his grip and rage as his fuel. Even when Onyxia flew off with his son, the taunting challenge to get him back had been delivered on a playing field Varian - both sides of him - knew very well.

But to face an illness was an assailant he was ill-fitted to counter, and perhaps the first time in his life that he found himself envying the strength healers possessed. The tellings of warrior etched on his very bones with ironlike instructions printed on parchment, he had always snubbed the thought of healers and their supposed powers in the shadow of a sharpened blade. They were retroactively powerful whereas he was the blunted front of a crippling assault. And yet, his strength was reduced to nothing in saving his son against the blight. No matter how sharp Shalamayne was, it'd do nothing to encourage Anduin to mend, to fight off the illness that gripped his life in an unwavering balance.

He'd almost lost Anduin and he'd been powerless to do anything.

Drawing back slowly, Varian dropped his hands to cradle either side of his son's face, using his calloused thumbs to wipe away the wetness on the boy's cheeks. "I can take you running away from your guards in the Keep. I can take you making friends with Deathwing's son. I can take you never touching another sword again. But this? Do not ever do this to me again."

A half-chuckle, half-sob choked its way out of Anduin's throat. "I give you my word. I will never do this again."

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**Don't worry! This isn't the end. Originally, I planned on it being the end but inspiration struck me. I'm having far too much fun writing Varian!dad. **


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter was a ton of fun to write. Happy reading!**

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To say that Varian was able to focus on the meetings was a gross overstatement. It'd been three days since Anduin became sick with the blight, two days since he nearly lost him, and only one day since Thrall managed to pull him from the brink of death. And while the threats of war were no longer on his lips, he still harbored animosity towards the Forsaken and their callous banshee leader, the Undead who sought to claim his son's youthful existence for her own sickened pleasures. Had it happened, had Anduin been unable to fight back the blight or Thrall and Lor'themar's medicine not been enough, Varian didn't want to consider what he would've been forced to do.

Anduin was always a messenger of Light, a bringer of peace and blessings. It would've been an insult on his person and that of their family had the king allowed the prince to exist as an undead.

Planting a hand against the wall of the shower, Varian closed his eyes as he let the warm waters rush over his aching limbs and scarred body. The hot steam and moisture felt divine on his tense muscles; but tense from disuse and having to sit in nearly the same chair all day. Diplomatic affairs and matters of the pen were never his finer suit, much more preferring the feel of cold steel in his hands to solve state and distant affairs. He was a warrior first and diplomat second, and where being a king fell between the two he wasn't sure. But his kingdom was flourishing under his reign and he managed to be a key figure in dismantling a handful of tyrants threatening Azeroth.

That all seemed so easy and second nature to him. Approaching a battle, knowing an enemy and able to look them straight in the eye. But he floundered and struggled in all things relating to being a single-parent to a teenage boy. Lest of all, a teenage boy with a penchant for blatantly disregarding orders and managing to do it with charismatic charm.

He could at least take heart that the day was finally over and he could throw himself to the urgently growing pile of missives and reports neatly stacked on the desk in his quarters. Some would seek the tender touch of a loved one in their final hours of a day, but he was long past those moments thanks to the cruelness of the world. All that waited up for him was work.

Reaching to turn off the taps, the High King marveled at the goblins ingenuity. Showers. Leagues more efficient than baths that somehow kept the waters a steady hot temperature no matter how long you stood under the stream. Wringing out his long hair of water and wrapping a towel around his hips, he paused to strain his hearing to the connected bedroom. No sounds. Not even stirring or coughing. Pleased that the shower hadn't woken up his resting son, he continued to dry off and dress in his night clothes, exchanging exquisite dragonhide pants for loose linen ones and an honored Alliance tabard for a plain long-sleeved shirt. How funny clothes could impose so much on a person, telling of their wealth and station, but could be easily swapped in a matter of seconds.

He tried to be quiet when he stepped out of the bathroom and into the lodge quarters he shared with his son. Night had long descended on the lodge and its sleepy inhabitants, the open window - enchanted to fight back the cold - offered an awe-inspiring view of the sprawling mountains, dark lavender night sky, and torrential snow that poured from the heavens. The only light in the room came from the flooding moonlight, bolstered in brightness from reflecting off the sea of snow, and the crackling fire in the rather small hearth on the wall opposite the two beds. Though it wasn't as much light as the High King would've liked to attend to his messages and reports, he wasn't willing to risk lighting his oil lamp on his desk and waking his boy.

Glancing past his own neatly made bed to the other one, he slowly lowered himself down at his small desk. Anduin's body was hidden beneath a slope of fleece and fur blankets, curled slightly on his side facing Varian. A mop of gilted hair as gold as his divine harnessing of the Light was splattered across his pillow that he nestled his face into. As much as Varian hated to admit it, he watched the teen for a few seconds, studying his features and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, mostly to make sure he was still breathing. As much as Thrall and Lor'themar reassured him that the prince was free of the blight and would now just have to regain his strength, his brush with death left a phantom panic in the High King.

Anduin had always been slender-framed with the fragile features of a priest. Despite shoving a sword in the boy's hand when he was just learning to walk, Varian knew early on that his son wouldn't be fated for a life among steel. As notoriously gifted as he was in the Light, he was also notoriously horrible with his swordsmanship. For years, and even in the recent past, it was a blemish on their relationship and a point of contention. And Anduin's frustrations with his father when sparring for hours on end had slowly turned to resentment. The fear of losing his son had won out over the fear of having a pacifist prince, and he'd been slow ever since Anduin's return from Velen's tutelage in accepting the boy's new plot in life.

Running his overcast blue eyes over the teen's signature Wrynn jawline and chin that were only just starting to form in his adolescenthood, Varian silently marveled at the strength in his child. While Anduin didn't inherit his broad frame or imposing stature, he was bestowed with the same stubbornness, pride, and perseverance that knew no bounds. It was easier when Anduin was younger; keeping him contained in the Keep was much simpler then. And while Anduin still would wince and bow his head in submission during lectures, his thirst for adventure made him find new outlets to sate it. Chasing him all over Pandaria was hopefully the last of his outlandish trips for a long time.

Content that he wasn't going to wake for a while, Varian turned back to the alarmingly high pile of reports. He was somewhat shameful to admit that his personal affairs with his son had eclipsed his time in attending to his state and summit. Treasury reports were stamped in red-outlined 'urgent' headers, military supply lines were needing to be rerouted around Vash'jir with the new currents sweeping the area, and there were numerous updates of unusual activity at the Dark Portal from Nethergarde Keep. Growling a little impatiently, he tucked the treasury reports to the bottom of the pile. Though heavily educated in all aspects of courtly affairs, looking over kingdom coffers, taxes, and requests from nobles was last on his list of things to do. And with his already paltry reserve of patience spent from the day's worth of meetings, he didn't trust himself not to send a sordid reply to some of the nobles.

Time passed faster than he would've liked. After signing his name for what felt like the thousandth time that night, the High King picked his quill up and leaned back in the chair with a yawn. The fire had died down considerably, but wouldn't go out thanks to the potent enchantments cast on it. The glow had turned from fiery to soft, an orange light basking the quarters and its tense King with its warmth.

A low moan and the sound of linens rustling made Varian immediately snap his head over his shoulder. Seeing the prince seated on the edge of his bed, his pajama-clad legs already swung over the side with his hands pawing at his tired face, the High King was on his feet in an instant.

"Anduin, what's wrong? Do you need a healer? Should I send for Thrall?" He hesitated between rushing to the boy's side and calling for the guards. Thrall had made night visits when the teen's life was still teetering but this was to be the first without him checking in until the morning. Inwardly, Varian cursed the Orc's insistence that Anduin was strong enough to get a full night's sleep without the interruption for healing. He'd brokered argument when it was suggested, bristling at the thought of him being left alone with Anduin should something dismal occur. He was no healer, he didn't know how to soothe the boy's weakened lungs. Damn Thrall and his shoddy opinion of his son's strength, likely only suggesting Anduin hold off on healing till the morning for his own selfish desires to sleep through the night. He'd kill him, he'd-

"I just need to use the bathroom."

Varian froze and dropped his hand reaching for the door. Awkwardness replaced anger in a matter of seconds. "Oh," he lamely replied to the weak sounding teen. "Here, let me help you."

But Anduin, ever his father's son, managed to push himself to his feet before Varian could reach him. And as strong hands braced one of his shoulders and arm, the strength of his father's body silently a blessing for his frail state, Anduin tensed his jaw proudly and tried to shuffle forward on his own. Halfway to his destination, his eyes strayed to the messy desk strewn with his father's reports, the quill dropped beside one of them and dripping black ink in its hastily forgotten state. "I'm sorry for interrupting you," he mumbled. "Truly, I can manage on my own, father."

"Don't apologize," the High King gruffly countered and reaffirmed his grip to wordlessly show his stance with the boy. He wasn't going anywhere.

When they reached the bathroom, Varian didn't show hesitation in nearly following the boy in, his awkwardness somehow flooded away by the unfamiliar waters of paternal instinct that he was more or less drowning in. But once Anduin crossed the threshold, the prince turned sharply on his heels, grabbed the lip of the door, and leveled his father a withering glance that looked comically replicated from the High King addressing his lieutenants. Biting back a smirk, Varian lifted both hands in mock surrender and stepped back just marginally, not even blinking when the door was shut in his face.

Light bless the boy's stubbornness. It saved both of them a world of worse awkwardness.

But he almost made matters worse when a dull _thud _against the bathroom wall made him jump with over reacting nerves. His hand was almost to the doorknob when he heard the telltale flow of the teen relieving himself. A sigh of one part relief and two parts exasperation slipped past his lips; Anduin had likely leaned against the wall, no longer feeling the need to force a strong front in the eyes of his proud father.

Lingering outside of the bathroom, Varian glanced out the window to watch blistery sheets of white snow rain down from the sky, repainting Winterspring's canvas with its wintery brush. Anduin had been excited for his inaugural visit to the chilly lands, boisterous at the untouched potential that lay at his disposal. As much as Varian sternly reminded him the imperativeness of the summit and his expectations per his station as his heir, the boy's excitement wasn't dampened. Apparently running across an entire island only a few weeks ago, skillfully dodging SI:7 and any search parties, hadn't tired Anduin's adventurous spirit out.

A morose feeling rose up Varian's throat as the falling snow reflected in his stormy blue gaze. Though he was the first to disapprove of the prince's exploring habits, he couldn't help but grieve for his son's weakened state. He wasn't even able to attend the meetings, let alone go outside. And he knew that if the boy's stamina and strength were even marginally better than what they were, he'd argue the point endlessly until Varian would lose his patience and tortly yell. It was a song and dance they knew too well.

The door opening brought Varian back to the present, turning slightly back towards the teen, who blinked in mild surprise that slowly gave way to annoyance at finding his father still there.

"I'm not a child."

"I never said you were," though his expression didn't show the smile that threatened to spill on his face, the High King's amused words did.

As determined as Anduin was with pushing a strong facade up to shield the truth of his exhausted state, his pale cerulean eyes were clearer than the nonexistent window in their room to the truth of his dwindling stamina. And knowing the perceptive king could see it, he hastily broke eye contact to glance past him at the desk. "The council… the reparations…how are the discussions going?"

Blinking in surprise at the suddenness of the question, Varian followed his child's stare over his shoulder at the forest of paperwork beckoning him back. He sighed. "Not as smooth as I'd hoped but diplomacy rarely ever is. We'll talk in circles and argue inconsequential matters before one side finally tires of it. I'm not entirely unreasonable in what the Alliance is asking for."

"But you're not entirely reasonable, either?"

He frowned some when Anduin slipped around him, clearly favoring the leg that bore the worst of the divine bell injury. Though he followed in Anduin's shadow, he didn't reach for him to help him walk, nor did he rebuke his inquisitive eyes from finding and scanning the notes from the day's meetings. In truth, it was refreshing to see the prince take vested interest in the affairs of the kingdom and faction he'd one day inherit and lead. As much as he wanted to keep the priest innocent to the ways of their world and sheltered from the callousness of war, he knew that was one parental wish he simply had to ignore. As it was, he already worried for Anduin's questionable combat skills that'd proven disadvantageous to the teen. For his age, his son was capable and resourceful without question, but he was rounding an age when he'd need to take a more active presence on battlefields.

Even priests had to fight.

Tapping his index finger on the meeting minutes that outlined the proposed requirements asked of the still reeling Horde, Anduin looked back at his sire with creased brows that were unfitting for his fragile state. "Father, there is a difference between war reparations and enforcing crippling sanctions. You're '_allowing' _them no more than a dozen vessels in their collective naval fleet, subject to _your _inspections? And the amount of gold you're asking from Thunderbluff is absurd!"

Varian's personalities battled with themselves, caught between wanting to usher his son back to bed or engage the prince in a likely heated argument to show him the error in his naive thinking. The latter won. "These are _war_ restitution terms, Anduin. Our demands will set a tone for future Horde and Alliance relations, and being charitable falls far below being resolute. Or would you rather I had dismantled their faction altogether?"

The teen set his jaw angrily. "You might as well have with what you're asking, father. This isn't just! You need to show strength through support and not… not _this!_"

Varian shallowly lifted his brows and spoke coolly. "Telling the High King what to do. Bold."

Though his father's words were said without malice, Anduin let some of his anger be replaced with sadness. If given the choice between the two, though, the king would've chosen the former. He could stomach that with his own lashing words, but he fought on an uneven playing field when the boy's benevolence washed over his features and shimmered in his soft stare. "Father, please. You once told me that the honor of a warrior wasn't measured by the strength that he swings his sword but in the rightness in knowing when to stay it. Crippling an already weakened people… you're not giving them a chance. We have a rare window for peace now."

Varian ran a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. "I can't not impose terms of restitution, Anduin. That's not how the world works, nor would the rest of the Alliance leaders agree with you. We showed clemency already, now it's time we show our teeth."

"You can do that in so many other ways, though! And not at the cost of.. of them getting back on their feet. This isn't the way to start a peaceful-"

"Enough about peace! We're not dealing with make believe!"

Varian closed his eyes the moment his words came out of his mouth, regret beginning to coil tightly in his stomach. The silence that swept between them was deafening and only made his regret thicken and stomach tighten. When he opened his eyes again, he expected the teen to have already turned his back on him and his explosive words, the familiar iciness to their relationship hardening. But the boy hadn't moved. His head was bowed forward, slightly oiled blonde bangs from lack of bathing tickling at his sickly pale cheeks. And though he couldn't fully see his child's face from his submissive stance, the High King knew the boy's resolve crumbled as bad as he looked.

He pushed Lo'gosh back at the price of having to face the situation and the consequences. And as Lo'gosh was pushed to the side, so was his stubborn pride.

"Forgive me, Anduin. I did not mean that. I've been under a lot of stress between this summit and your health, and I spoke without thinking." Watching hesitant blue eyes raise up to meet his, he didn't expect the sympathy that filled them. Not after it was him asking for forgiveness. Tilting his head to the side, Varian calmly reached for the parchment splattered with the meeting minutes and slowly turned it towards the teen. "What would you do if you were king?"

Anduin blinked a few times at the genuine question, still reeling from being at the receiving end of his father's shortened fury. Favoring silence at first, partially to make sure the question wasn't rhetorical and partially to gather his wits, the teen balanced his weight on his fingertips pressed on the edge of the desk. It was his chance to prove himself, to prove that peace and compassion had a place on the throne as much as he did, that the exhaustion of the wars had been reduced to hopeless fighting. But the passion that was bursting in his heart only moments ago was suddenly gone. Looking down at his father's scribbled notes from the meeting, written in haste to match his vivacious thoughts, the prince had no words.

Because while his father had asked him what he'd do if he were king, he very much heard the unspoken '_when'_ between his breaths.

His father was a strong king deeply loved by his subjects and heavily respected by his allies and even some of his enemies. His voice was commanding and carried the heart and voice of the people, leading into periods of hardship but able to emerge victorious and strong. Unfaltering and undaunted in his confidence, Varian was a force to be reckoned with, and the prince marveled from the sidelines, envious of his father's strength and fearful of how he'd compare.

Closing his eyes, Anduin gently pushed himself away from the desk. "I need to lay down now," he whispered quietly.

And as the teen silently climbed back into bed, he didn't see the king toss the meeting minutes into the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

**A wee bit of a shorter chapter. I also took some creative liberties in describing shaman healing; hopefully it's not totally out there lol.**

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By the next morning the iciness from the late night argument had thawed. Morning was a new day, bringing with it new heights and leaving behind the wrongs of yesterday. The priest had slept later than his father when he rose at dawn, but was awake by the time he finished shaving and emerged from the bathroom. Varian had halted in his steps when his eyes landed on the teen; kneeling in front of his bed with his forehead pressed down on his clasped hands resting on the mattress, his whispered prayers carried an angelic grace that even made someone as skeptical as Varian bow his head briefly. Normally the royals were afforded the luxury of their own accommodations, and as Varian couldn't remember the last time he visited his son in his room in the morning, he was left wondering if the priest went through the pious ritual daily. He would've asked if he wasn't concerned with shattering the boy's devotion and concentration, though the king did conveniently sit on the edge of his bed nearest Anduin to pull on his boots in hopes to hear his whispered words.

"...pray for wisdom that I need to…. and for the knowledge to know what is right and when the… pray for peace to find itself in our hearts and guide us… for him to understand and accept this guidance…"

Varian didn't have to wonder who his son was referring to. And suddenly feeling very sheepish at the thought of the priest finding him eavesdropping on his private moment, the king quietly pushed himself up from the bed with the intention of returning to his work. The treasury reports undoubtedly asking for a hike in Redridge taxes couldn't be delayed for much longer, lest he wanted to deal with an angry pack of Nobles when he returned to Stormwind.

A sharp knock on the door saved him the headache.

Assuming he already knew who it was, Varian quickly gathered up his mess of reports and tucked them back inside ledgers and envelopes, ensuring that no affairs regarding his kingdom or faction remained in the open. As eager as he was for his son to be cared for, he was ever an astute commander well versed in prying eyes.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Anduin was decent and finished with his prayers, he was met with the teen's warm smile as he tucked himself back into bed. It was a small gesture, a mere smile, but Varian returned it with his own gruff one. The words weren't needed, no apologies spoken, but it was more than felt between the father and son.

"Enter."

The door immediately opened for the expected raven-haired, blue-eyed Orc to step through. Carrying a tray with three teacups filled with dried flowers and herbs and an elaborately decorated tea kettle with glass mosaic tiles in a very Kal'dorei fashion, he paused at the king. "King Varian Wrynn," the Orc bowed respectfully, the greeting coming out in a melodic sort of grumble free of any animosity but still taut with respect.

"Thrall," Varian dipped his forehead down so subtly it was nearly missed, but it was a profound gesture for the proud king. "He was able to get through the night without...much issue. He's certainly regained his spirits."

Thrall's bushy brows met but he looked past the king towards his patient in question. Sitting up in bed with the blankets drawn to his hips, a radiant smile held strong to the teen's face, so filled with warmth and appreciation. But the hollowness of his cheeks and darkened circles outlining his glassy eyes gave the shaman a small glimpse of how he was fairing past his infectious charm.

"Spirit is good," the Orc replied as he gently placed the tray on the unoccupied bed. A part of him almost hesitated, knowing who's bed it was and the personal space he might've infringed on. But save for the stifling diplomatic greeting, he embraced a fostering environment for his young patient before social etiquettes.

"Clearly you don't have much experience with teenagers."

Thrall rumbled a low laugh as he momentarily left the tray to round the bed and approach the boy. "Not yet, but I've been told toddlers aren't much different." Reaching Anduin's side, who was distracted with sending a forced glare at the king, the shaman let them both fall into background noise and focused solely on the jolting present of the elements, opening himself up to their guiding voices. Placing his hands on the boy's chest, he pressed gently on the night shirt until he could not only feel the human's tepid warmth but his brilliant life force. Though he heard Varian shuffling and could certainly feel the king's protective stare boring into him, he also let that fall to the background. Soon enough, the elementals beckoned at his call and their ethereal voices filled his head and thoughts.

In those few precious seconds, the elements whispered so much about Anduin's body and offered the shaman astral scenes of each severe malady: the winds of Kun-Lai and Garrosh's snarling face as the divine bell fell on him and shattered all of his bones with his leg still frail, smoldering lava and pieces of dragon eggs as a scared child nursed claws that shredded his shoulder muscles, numerous training sessions in a green courtyard and fumbling with his sword to deflect a blow in time, heated voices pitching higher and higher until a crushing grip made the bone in his arm nearly buckle and Varian's seething face come into focus, snow chilling through thick boots as the sound of a bowstring letting loose and a festering disease took hold in his chest.

Each astral sight separated into its own plane with its own set of voices to tell him more of how the boy's body was fairing. The shaman pushed his morbid curiosities aside, granting the prince his privacy, and focused only on the last one.

Thrall hummed a little to himself before opening his eyes, not even realizing he had them closed, and found himself under the boy's curious gaze. "The blight seems gone and your lungs are doing better than expected." He narrowed his eyes on his young patient. "I hope you're not trying to use the Light to heal on your own."

"He best not be."

Anduin sharply shook his head, looking from Thrall to the hovering mass of his father right beside him, his expression changing slightly from endearing to exasperated. "I haven't! Though I've been tempted so I could get out of this bed and stop feeling so weak and useless."

Thrall slowly shook his head as he rose from the bed and returned to the tray. "Healers always make the worst patients," he grumbled good-naturedly and gently tipped the kettle into each of the three cups, flooding the dried herbs and fruit slices in a scolding bath. He was careful with isolating one of the cups among the trio, the steam from it emitting an acrid, brown mist that curled and tainted the air with heavy aromatic notes of burned cinnamon and more earthy herbs difficult to place.

"Herbs from my garden in Nagrand. They relax and open the airways, making breathing easier while your lungs are still strengthening," Thrall explained at seeing the shared looks of curiosity from the royals. Well, almost shared. Anduin's visceral keenness as a healer made him sit up straighter in bed and waft the burnished steam dancing from his offered cup. Varian's jaw tensed as a roar of overprotectiveness jolted through him, unnerved at the reality of an abdicated Horde Warchief giving his child something to drink. But whatever fight or argument the king was prepared to launch was stolen from him when the shaman offered one of the two remaining cups.

Anduin hid his smile behind the rim of his own cup at seeing the naked surprise on his father's face.

"What is this?" The king's frown matched his dubious sounding words as he looked down at the pale amber tea. It smelled fragrant yet strong with exotic scents he seldom got in the Keep.

"Bergamot orange with earthroot," the Orc replied as he caught onto the king's eye and held it as he took a sip of his own tea. "Less medicinal but not without calming benefits." Watching Varian reluctantly sip it, Thrall couldn't quite stop thinking of the astral plane that showed the High King's features twisted in an irate scowl as he painfully grabbed his son. The damage wasn't intense enough to leave a lingering injury, or even one he doubted was worse than a fractured bone, but the pain that continued to plague the boy was deeper than the flesh.

"I was thinking…." Anduin began as he tried to hide his grimace at sipping the bitter tea. "If Thrall were to agree to my condition being stable enough, I'd like to attend some of the council meetings today."

"No."

Anduin's face fell. "Before you immediately say no, father, it doesn't have to be all of them!"

"No."

"I'll leave right when you tell me too. I won't even need to be there for the full duration!"

"I'm glad you see it that way, Anduin, because you're leaving the meetings before they even start. My answer is unchanged and I will not entertain this anymore. You're staying here until the summit is done, then the only traveling you're doing is through a portal back home to Stormwind."

Thrall was quiet as he looked between the bickering royals, debating if he should offer his input as Anduin's impromptu healer or stay out of the personal affairs. He sipped his tea.

"Father, I'm getting restless seeing the same walls and talking to no one all day. I can't keep sleeping in here when I'm clearly well enough to hold a conversation. And the council meetings-"

"-are none of your concern."

Thrall saw movement out of the corner of his eye followed by the faint clink of the boy's cup, suggesting he placed it on the nightstand beside him. "How can you say that?! As crown prince, it's all of my concern. Were this any other situation, had I not gotten a little sick-"

"You almost died, Anduin!"

Everything turned quiet in the wake of the thunderous voice so stringent and commanding that even Thrall looked up and prepared himself to intervene if need be. The vision from the astral plane was too fresh in his mind. But when he looked at the king, he found Varian's face twitching and twinging as he fought an unseen battle, his inner demons notoriously fiercer than any foe on a battlefield.

"Your father is right, Anduin, that what you went through wasn't just getting sick. And you need to give your body time to recuperate. The council meetings are long and I don't suggest you pushing yourself to attend," Thrall paused a moment. "But your lungs can't fully strengthen from being inactive in a bed. Varian, he'll need some kind of activity. Walking around the lodge or venturing outside for a short time would do him some good."

Maybe it was because he was still struggling with his fury, but Varian reluctantly nodded, his eyes fixated on the prince. "Fine. You've been wanting to see Winterspring. If I take you riding _with me_ in the area for a _short time_, do you agree to put this issue to bed?"

Anduin had once fantasized about traipsing into the many caverns that snaked in and out of the snow capped mountains, venturing all over the rustic frigid world that screamed to be explored. Alone, the fantasy had a chance at becoming reality. Under his parent's watchful gaze, it'd live and die a mere fantasy.

But as tired as he still was, he needed to stretch his legs and get fresh air. He saw the compromise for what it was, and he eagerly embraced it with a gentle smile. "I'd like that."


	7. Chapter 7

**With the holiday's and travel, I'm not sure when I'll be able to toss the next chapter out so here's a very long one! A few notes with this chapter. Explanations of shadow magic are my own take on it. The war reparations are _not_ canon; I added this in for a bit of realistic flair to it, drawing on influences from WWI and WWII. **

**Thank you everyone for the reviews and kind words! I seriously get so excited to see reviews and comments so please, please keep them coming! Also, the next chapter you'll be seeing Vol'jin and Varian chat about the outcome of this attack so stay tuned! **

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If he squeezed the cup any harder, Varian was positive there would be a mess of shattered ceramic and tea on the conference table. At least then he wouldn't have to look at the litter of papers starting to make him go cross-eyed. He couldn't even find himself to be hungry for the lunch break that was due to be called, which he fully anticipated retreating back to his accommodations to take it with Anduin. Assuming the teen was awake. But he'd welcome the company of his sleeping son to any of the leaders and advisors seated around the council table. Really, he'd had his fair share of looking at them for the rest of the day, despite the fact that the meetings still had hours upon days left.

Crunching numbers, calculating indemnity inflations, and arguing the cost of Orgrimmar offensive fortifications incurred by the Alliance during the siege. Varian had surprised everyone - and earned a sea of groans - when he told them he'd discarded all prior plans he'd drafted up. What he didn't add was his teenage son was the driving force that influenced his decision and drove him to turn the meeting minutes into fire kindle. And while he entered the room with all the best of intentions to heed his priest's generous-hearted words and approach, the High King was either fighting with himself on the matter or arguing his point with the other Alliance leaders.

The Horde seemed too stunned to voice their opinions, for which Varian was eternally grateful. His patience was paper thin, and was only seeming to get worse as the summit progressed. Or regressed, thanks to his abrupt change of heart.

"King Varian… these new drafted terms are…" Genn's voice almost cost the High King another quill caught victim between his two white-knuckled fists. The servants overseeing the council had quietly emerged from their tucked away positions on the room's periphery, stepping out from the shadows to wordlessly collect the pieces of broken quills left in small, angry piles in front of the High King. They said nothing the past four times they swept up the mess, and neither did anyone else at the table; a small blessing for their safety and sake.

"Are _what_?"

The Gilnean monarch coughed stiffly at the High King's biting tone leaking with his unbridled frustration. The lunch bell hadn't sounded yet and they were already being graced with Varian's anger that carried as much notary as his martial prowess. Not that Genn could much blame him. Stuck sequestered in a single lodge by the damning blizzard outside with detestable Horde and bickering Alliance leaders all the while suffering the paternal plights of worrying for his only son's safety… the Worgen could feel a flood of sympathy for Stormwind's ruler. But that was from one father to another. Had it been Liam laying in Anduin's position, suffering under the entombing damnation of a forsaken illness, he personally would've sought a fitting retribution within seconds of his child's life hanging on a fatal edge.

In the days that followed the altercation between the teenage prince and the Forsaken Banshee, word had spread faster than the billowy gusts of wind pelting their lodge with strong lungs of bitter snow. The Gilnean king hadn't taken much inventory for how the rest of his faction reacted, but he himself was beyond livid. He'd heard yells - a shrieking feminine mixed with a thundering masculine - from a conference room and didn't have to wonder how Jaina took the news. While maternal with a softening gaze whenever she looked at Anduin, the Archmage's wit had been off-kilter since her exposure to the mana bomb and the sudden destruction of her beloved city and people. It was no surprise, especially after her hostile reaction following Garrosh's downfall, that she pushed Varian to yet again take up arms and assert their forces against the still weakened Horde ranks. Her emotions were as taut as a bowstring, rumored to have been worsened from the electrifying effects of the mana bomb that riddled her with second hand radiation. But Genn knew the difference between aggression brought on by a curse and that of someone grieving the loss of what they used to have.

He knew that differentiation well. Too well.

And while Genn might've expected Varian to quell Jaina's bloodlust for the Horde and finding an immediate revenge, what he didn't expect was Varian doing the expect opposite and showing a surprising measure of mercy when it came time to sit down at the negotiation tables. The war against Garrosh's tyranny and neutralizing his threat had been beyond costly for them in both gold and resources. It would be near impossible to recoup what they lost, not with the Horde's present shattered remains. Restructuring and reforming they might be doing, but they were still mending broken joints and nursing wounds that would fester for decades.

Still, Varian had once been at the head of a financial assault on the Horde leaders, whipping them with his unrelenting front as vicious as he would with Shalamayne in battle. But over the course of a day - a mere night - everything had changed.

Genn looked back down at the numbers. They were much lower than he would've liked for initial compensations. "The resources and industrial assets will please Ironforge. _Assuming_ Vol'jin agrees to them," he flicked a condemning chocolate-hued gaze upwards, looking across the sea of papers and ledgers to the other side of the table where the Horde retinue sat. The troll's face was unreadable with a blank, well-groomed expression giving no hints to what he thought of the High King's sudden change of heart. "The provisional coal payment seems very… reasonable. But freezing an indemnity rate, Varian…"

"I didn't realize dogs knew how to count. How _amusing_."

"Enough, Sylvanas," Lor'themar's crisply accented voice that spoke in a highly cultured Common beat anyone else on the verge of launching a verbal reprimand to the Banshee. He sat on the opposite end of the table from her, favoring neither being in the center nor in her proximity. But the Sin'dorei leader had come to prefer residing in the flanks with Brightwing at his right side, appearing to cling to every word spoken but offering very few comments of his own. "The coal and steel shipments you propose, Wrynn, while surely to stabilize emerging cities and outposts for the Alliance, will be a knife in the back of the Horde's already waning resource battle. If your idea of reparations is to disemploy any hope of the Horde's commercial and economic renewal, I applaud your enterprising schemes. As it stands, excavation efforts are already being pushed beyond capacity to restore Orgrimmar after the siege." He placed the parchment down onto the table with a surprising surge of poise and control, each movement turning fluid into the next. "What you propose exceeds what the Horde is able to pay, not even touching on the possibility of willingness."

Varian looked down at the numbers. They were beginning to mesh together, so many figures and calculations. A headache began to pound behind his eyes. "Then we'll reduce the shipment expectations from every three months to every six until the total amount is satisfied."

"Varian!"

The High King didn't even look up at Jaina's incredulous outcry as he scribbled the change on his copy of the proposed terms. His already overcast mood was turning more foul. "I'm enforcing an executive decision on this," he grumbled in an abrasive tone matching his attitude. After turning quiet for a spell, the head of his quill pressed firmly against the parchment, he didn't look up as he waited for any dissenters to utter their concerns or rejections.

Only silence responded to him.

"Then we're in agreement," not that he'd grant them - at least the Alliance leaders - much leniency in the decision. "We'll reconvene after lunch to determine a supply schedule honoring the change from quarter to biannually. I believe I've been more than allowing in these provisionals to encourage a restoration of the Horde and not just...crippling your economic reprisal. Tomorrow we'll discuss the monetary indemnity incurred. And I am _firm_ on my stance of not enforcing hyperinflation. Or any inflation, for that matter. War has consequences, not peace. And let us not forget that the person we waged war against, for the most part, is not in this room. It's not in my agenda to pass his sins and the cost of his tyranny on the people we fought to pull out from under his hold. Nor should it be the purpose of these meetings."

"Di Horde be needin' tuh discuss dis," Vol'jin mumbled among this large tusks, his low voice stripped of any emotions. "We bi takin' an extra long recess tuh hab our own meetin'." His eyes snapped over to Sylvanas' dual crimson ones, catching her sardonic, mocking stare for the briefest of seconds. "I may bi askin' sum nuh tuh return, either."

Hastily collecting his papers into a messy bundle strapped in a goatskin leather ledger, Varian was already pushing himself to stand. The lunch bell would be sounding soon, but his patience had expired already. "A wise choice," the High King shot an equally disdainful glare at the Banshee Queen, who met it with the same dark amused grin that made Varian nearly reach for his beloved sword and simply end her. In truth, he didn't know what discord rushed through the Horde leadership like a consuming wildfire on the heels of his son's illness. But astute and perceptive thanks to too many nights sacrificed to arguing among Nobles, he was able to discern the strained relations and disquiet that festered between Sylvanas and the other leaders, especially their newly seated Warchief.

After giving forced pleasantries and insistence that he wouldn't be joining the lunch meal in the dining hall, yet again, Varian took his leave. His mind was splintered worse than rotting wood, tormented with what was perhaps regret but better explained by sheer uncertainty for what he had elected to do. So many times in the past, and not so distantly either, he was beyond tempted to exact a fitting retribution to the faction and people who wronged his own and claimed the unjust death of his father. He couldn't forget it, the man who's namesake carried on through his son, and whose death drove the High King into fits of starving revenge against them. The Orcs were faceless in their claims of honor, no matter how much they bellowed to possess it. Time and time again, the humans - physically weaker but stronger in unity - had seen the devastating effects the so-called honor had brought them.

But while the Orcs claimed his father's life, it wasn't the Orcs that nearly claimed his son's. Well, not this time. Garrosh's brutal blow from the bell was still too fresh in Varian's mind, but it was by an Orc's hand that Anduin was healed from the blight.

Trying not to let himself show too much mercy and levity at the notion, his pride as thick as his broad frame, Varian busied himself with gathering two plates of food from the dining hall. He was sure Wyll would've done the menial task and toted them back to their chambers but the monarch was in need of a distraction. He selected a bowl of bone and herbed broth with a slice of rosemary bread for Anduin and a hearty herbed bear steak for himself with a pale yellow and spotted black rice that smelled of earthroot and some other herb he couldn't place. He nearly reached for two helpings of the steak, hoping that the prince would have the appetite to eat more than just mere liquid and bread, but he knew it'd end up being a wasteful attempt. As bottomless as Anduin's stomach normally was thanks to his teenage growth, his appetite was sluggish in returning in full force and didn't seem to show any urgency in coming back anytime soon. The boy was barely able to eat more than half an apple for breakfast and left the brown sugared porridge cold and untouched.

"King Wrynn."

The deep voice that carried itself with the throttling intensity of thunder made the king pause as he was about to leave the dining hall, arms occupied with holding a tray filled with small silver-hooded platters. "Baine." Varian didn't bother concealing his annoyance at the interruption. Nor did he put any effort at concealing his still unresolved anger at the Tauren befriending his teenage son in secret meetings behind his back. "For being so quiet during the council, I'm surprised to find you approaching me now. Any thoughts you might have on the reparations are best saved for after the recess."

The Tauren gently shook his head. As much as Varian detested the Tauren - at least for their continued support of the Horde - he never could quite grasp how large they were. He'd faced more than his fair share in battle and had come out of the skirmishes as both victor and nursing countless wounds. Lingering slightly in the corridor right outside of the dining hall, his considerable bulk blocking Varian's path, the Tauren's stance didn't leak any hints of aggression. No, it was quite the opposite. "I have nothing to say on the negotiations. At least not anymore. You retracted the monetary compensation you were originally demanding of Thunderbluff. And I have no argument about your changed resource delivery. It's fair enough."

"Then what do you want?"

Baine didn't even blink at the biting words. "I came to see about Anduin."

The broth nearly sloshed out of its bowl as the High King fought with himself not to throw it at the Tauren for his concerns. He didn't want them. Not from a Horde leader, from the very faction that nearly stole his son's young life. "Then ask Thrall. I'm sure he'll give you updates."

Baine mirrored the human's step as he attempted to pass him. And he disregarded the challenging glare from the King and dropped his voice several octaves and volume, quiet yet dripping in concern. "I'm asking _you_. Beyond simply being a child caught in the crossfires of hostilities - some unfounded given the purpose of this summit - I consider the prince a friend. I honor his friendship as much as I do his welfare in this much."

"Don't talk to me about _honor_," the human spit back in a strangled voice poorly containing his rage. "The most honorable thing your faction has done is respond to cleaning up the mess Sylvanas made. You're lucky that I don't listen to my advisors and the rest of the Alliance telling me I was due to get a deserving revenge."

"We both know Anduin wouldn't want that."

"There's a lot of things that Anduin wouldn't want, or does want, and doesn't get his way. He's a _child_. You can't cherrypick when you think he's relevant or not to fit your narrative, Baine. And on that juncture, if you ever come near my son again, behind my back, it will be the last thing you wished you'd done. Anduin may still be naive and fill his head with immature, foolish thoughts of seeing 'good' in everyone, often at the expense of his own safety, but let me reaffirm something if you somehow confused yourself - he didn't inherit any of that from me."

"Immature those thoughts may be, but foolish? Is it foolish to walk a path of tranquility and turn your back on destruction? I think Azeroth is left wanting for a little immaturity after all she's been through. I think we all are. Too long have we followed in the footsteps of leaders with jaded views and tarnished perspectives."

Varian squeezed the edges of the tray harder. "I can only imagine you're speaking of your _own_ Warchief, Baine. The Alliance - and my kingdom - lead by a set, seasoned example. Jaded views are cautionary ones. But please, tell me how operating Thunderbluff with the stance of being 'immature' goes for you."

The Tauren didn't look the least bit insulted at the callous, bitter words. No, he knew the fount of where the king's anger and frustration came from, and it wasn't a politically charged source. "Varian… I condemned Sylvanas's attack for what it was: dishonorable and unjust. We all did." Seeing the scarred features begin to tighten up and coil with collating emotions, Baine was quick to continue in his same low-toned voice weighed down with concern. But he was quiet not just for the sake of showing his care and compassion; no, his words could be translated to treason for speaking of matters outside of a secure forum not meant for the gold-and-blue tabarded king. "Vol'jin is unnerved at what she's doing in her apothecaries. There's a line between upsetting the ancestors through lichen ways and using a tool for war. She crossed that line, especially against a boy at a summit."

Varian wanted to yell and scream obscenities, he wanted to unearth the legendary blade on his back and embed her lip into the Tauren's chest. He wanted to blame him for all of the wrongs brought to his kingdom, his faction, his _family._ Light, he could protect an entire half continent of people from rampaging orcs, an ethereal lich king, broods upon broods of dragons, sha-infested amalgamations… but the one person who meant the world to Varian, the one person he woke up for everyday, he couldn't keep safe.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. Baine wasn't to blame. He was only a convenient outlet who happened to wear the same tabard as the banshee who deserved his wrath. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he opened his eyes to find Baine watching him closely. "Anduin is doing much better than before. Maybe a little too better for my sanity. He's strong enough not to be sleeping the majority of the day but too weak to go back home to Stormwind." Furrowing his thick brows, he glanced briefly down at the tray. "He's not gotten his appetite back, either. I intend to bring that up to Thrall next I see him."

Baine chuckled lightly - well, as lightly as a Tauren could. It still rumbled like thunder. "If I remember anything of Anduin Wrynn, it's his curiosity, goodness, and appetite. I recall very well how many tea sandwiches and pastries he had at Theramore." It was a gamble bringing up the impromptu meeting that clearly had earned him the king's wrath. But Varian's face didn't pinch or become shadowered with rage at the reminder; no, that rage had subsided enough to make him look tired and weary, the gravity of the last few days taking a striking toll on him. "And while I'm positive his goodness hasn't wavered, I'm sure his curiosity and appetite will be quick to come back in full-force as well."

Varian growled lowly, though without the previous malice that had consumed his voice moments earlier. "The curiosity and wandering I could do without. That's what got him into this mess in the first place."

"Much better a wandering mind than a lost soul, King Wrynn. He follows a charitable path, though. Especially for one so young. His actions at the trial were… inspiring."

Now those were memories Varian didn't need to be reliving; Garrosh's tyranny, the bell shattering the boy's bones, the soured trial, the Mag'har somehow managing to slip by their fortifications. "Don't remind me," he grouched and moved to walk past the Tauren who'd stepped aside to grant the human passage once again. He wasn't sure if the words would be enough to satisfy whatever concerns Baine had but considering the King wasn't blocked again, he didn't dwell on the matter.

The Tauren's rumbling words echoed down the corridor as Varian strode past. "Please give the prince my reassurance that I'll continue to seek the ancestors guidance for his recovery."

Thankfully, with Baine at his back, the King's irritable roll of his eyes went unnoticed.

Varian had no intention of making good on that request from the Tauren, sharing no love for the blatant affinity and supposed 'friendship' the chieftain had with his young son. While Anduin might've been a priest by discipline, he was heir to Stormwind by birth and son of the Alliance's High King. Varian had been largely joking when he made the comment about throwing Anduin in prison for treason for his friendship with Baine, but the harsh reality wasn't far from it. Had the House of Nobles heard that Anduin was keeping company with a Horde leader, especially against the king's wishes and knowledge, they'd stoke the flames of the rumor mill and toss the poor boy to the dogs. It was no secret Varian was often at odds with the nobles, his heavyhanded approach to running the throne hitting heads with their gluttonous desires and stifling decorum.

Reaffirming his grip on the tray, Varian knit his brow in confusion at first when he turned down a corridor and was hit with what he could only describe as obnoxious noise. A heavy sound with a bastardized notion of a tempo maintained with a reverberating bass, the clatter only grew louder and louder the closer he got to his chambers. And as the volume grew, so did the sounds. The detonating bass was no longer aimless but followed a paltry pattern; roaring drums, pealing guitar strings, and clamoring voices slowly mingled together to make what was pathetically called 'music'.

The two guardsman stationed outside of the royals chambers had thin, white-lipped expressions and creased brows as they fantastically fought to try to ignore the explosion of music from the rooms they were guarding. Varian made a mental note to increase their pay for the trip and adjust the patrol schedules to give them respite from watching over the teenager.

"How long?"

The guard returned the sympathetic look from the monarch with an awkward cough. "For the greater part of the past bell, Your Majesty. Thrall visited the prince a few hours prior."

Which told Varian that Anduin had likely been awake for at least two or three hours, despite the King's stringent orders for him to commit his day to resting. Blaring near deafening music was a far cry from resting the body. The King felt his own blood pressure pitch to a soaring crescendo at the shrilling boom vibrating the door on its hinges.

Opening the door, Varian closed his eyes as a wall of riotous music almost bodily hit him, threatening to bowl his broad frame over with its disorderly tune. He wasn't sure what unsettled him more; the irony that someone so benevolent and tender as a priest preferred the rackety harmony of a heavy metal music, or the fact that Stormwind's future king was a diehard fan to a Horde band.

He could settle for disliking both.

The rancorous noise - Varian refused to acknowledge it as something as melodic as music - suffocated any sounds the King might've made lumbering into the room. And a man of substantial size harnessed with a thick broadsword to his back made quite a bit of sound. Not that the teenager lounging in the bed in a half-sitting position, his body supported from a plush mountain of pillows, heard or took any notice to his father thanks to his eyes fastened down on the book cracked open on his lap and the voluminous explosion of music beating against the walls.

Setting the tray down on his bed, Varian reached over to the small device resting on _his_ desk, seated among the haven of work papers and missives from his state couriers, and flipped the dial in a deathly downward position. Though his own experience with portable audiophones was rudimentary at best, he'd tinkered enough with his son's after Jaina gifted it to him for his fifteenth birthday. At the time, the gift sounded splendid and perfect for the staunchly regal boy often deprived of outlets most teenagers enjoyed. Music and the arts were beloved subjects he tried to ensure the prince was well taught to appreciate and respect.

It backfired horribly on the King.

The blonde's head snapped up when the music suddenly died.

"Is ETC the Horde's newest assassin tool?" Varian snorted some and shook his head in mild disapproval. "Truly, Anduin, had my intention been to harm you, you wouldn't have any clue it was coming. You couldn't hear me at all over this..._noise_. I'd be amazed if you could hear anything."

Though still pale from his weakened state - something that didn't go unchecked from the King's quick cursory gaze - Anduin's lips quirked up into an amused grin. "I'd be amazed if I could stop any assassination plot that managed to get by your guards, father. ETC or not." He chuckled lightly. "I might as well enjoy the music during my final moments."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

Varian narrowed his eyes on the teen, taking in his damp blonde bangs and pajamas that were different from the pair he was wearing in the early hours of the day. "Don't push yourself too much, Anduin. You might be healing well, but you're far from recovered. And the moment you have recovered enough, it's straight back home to Stormwind for you," he grumbled as he reached over for the tray and placed it on the boy's bed beside him.

The prince's eyes flashed with mild lecture as he closed his book. "But not before I attend you during that ride through Winterspring you promised."

"I have no memory of making any such promise."

The humor drained from the boy's expression. "Now _that _is not funny."

Varian grinned faintly as he dropped himself to sit at his desk, his own silver-hooded platter plucked from the tray. "It's a little funny."

Delidding the hood from his own meal, Anduin's boyish spirits rebounded quick, though whether from the lightheartedness flooding from Varian's words or the sight of food, Varian didn't know. His worried, paternal side hoped the teenager was regaining his soured appetite back with a roaring revenge, the same appetite that made the royal chefs and bakers scramble to deliver enough to sate the bottomless hunger. While it was indisputable that Anduin wouldn't ever develop the burly frame from his father, a frame befitting a warrior, he'd likely still inherit most of his looming height. Which made the still-short fifteen year old suffer the awkwardness of his transitional age, a period when his limbs were clumsy and bumbling in coordination as they fought to adjust to his emerging growth. Lanky and slender, Varian remembered back with fond memories living through his own tormenting adolescenthood, though he was granted companionship with Arthas. The two of them were inseparable during those days.

Arthas. What he'd give to go back in time and try to do something - anything - to derail the destructive path his best friend had traversed down.

"Are you ok, father?"

Varian let go of the melancholic thoughts as the fatigued voice pulled him back to the present, leaving behind ghosts and phantoms in the recessed shadows where they belonged. "Hm?" He met the prince's concerned gaze. The boy was too perceptive for his own good sometimes. "Oh, just thinking. Nothing to worry yourself over. The negotiations have my mind running numbers more than I'd ever want." He slathered the lie liberally with a wry laugh. But judging by the teen's forced smile of understanding, he knew it fell short. "If the soup's not enough, I can send Wyll to get you something more robust. Though it's all Kal'dorei food so… I don't know how 'robust' it will be."

Plunging the lip of his spoon into the burnished broth, sloshing through the soupy ocean emitting rising steam from the surface, Anduin smirked weakly. "The steak looks pretty good." His pale blue eyes, still glassy from his body's fight against the blight, glanced over at the flank currently getting stabbed by the King's fork and knife. "I like it here in Winterspring. I mean, from what I've seen of it, anyways. It's so different from Stormwind. The closest I have to compare it to would be Kun-Lai, but even that wasn't… quite like this." He turned quiet for a moment as he glanced briefly out the window, watching the pour of obscuring snow fall in torrential sheets. "Is this what Icecrown was like?"

Varian frowned as he chewed the heavily seasoned piece of steak. Leave it to the Night Elves to slather - and ruin - a once prized cut of meat with their insistence of including nature in _everything_. He reached for the bottle of Darnassian merlot he left out from the night prior, the red wine still three quarters filled and would do the trick to keep him company for the meal. What he'd give for something stronger with a more bitter kick to it. He doubted he'd find a Dwarven whiskey in the lodge. Actually, he doubted he'd fine anything Dwarven at all. "Icecrown?" He coughed a little and carefully scraped the slush of herbs off the steak. "Not quite. The snow there was thick and would come down nonstop but it wasn't like this. In the mountains and the sea, near the Argent Tournament grounds, it was a little more similar. But around the citadel, the ground was kept warm from the structures and the armies movements. It didn't allow it to collect like this. And the sky always looked stormy and dark."

Anduin tore off a chunk of the rosemary oiled bread accompanying the soup and tossed it in his mouth. It wasn't toasted like Ironforge favored and he nearly choked on the overwhelming herbs that accosted his tastebuds. "I wish I was able to go with you then. At least to the Argent Tournament." He smiled faintly at the memory. "I would've liked to see Icecrown and the festivities. Instead of being left at the Keep."

"You were too young."

"As if age was the only thing holding me back," the prince countered in a light tone. "You hardly allowed me to stay in Lion's Landing as long as you did."

"I think you're _still _too young to be at a forward base," Varian leaned back in his chair, taking mild enjoyment from the steak's freshness now that it was free from its herb prison, and looked over his child quietly. "And do you have any fathomable idea the panic you set SI:7 and the House into when you were enjoying your tour around Pandaria? My being there to establish the base only added insult to injury - the crown prince was missing by his own machinations and the king was willfully putting himself and the throne at risk by going to the front. Had something happened to both of us…"

The broth suddenly tasted stale and lifeless. Anduin knew the conversation well; he'd been on the receiving end of it enough he could recite it. "You didn't _have _to go to Pandaria. You could've stayed in Stormwind," he leveled the king a pointed look to drive his words home. But given his anemic state, he doubted he mustered much at all.

"The same could be said for you," Varian groused back with a stern look that lasted only a few seconds. The monarch's testy side bristled and cursed at the memory of Pandaria, at the panic that shook his core and made him turn to the bottle more times than he should've. But watching the boy make waves in his soup, looking probably as miserable as he felt in his frail state, he couldn't make the same ire surface that he felt when in the moment those many months ago. He was beyond relieved that Anduin still breathed, for his son had almost been taken from him more times than he ever should've.

The king sighed tiredly, shook his head, and, for the first time, spoke earnestly of the matter. "I tried to stay in Stormwind as long as I could, son. Getting word that you were shipwrecked and your whereabouts were unknown was torture. Learning that you were once a Horde prisoner made me beyond worried. But it was hearing about the numerous evasions you made with your guards and SI:7 did I finally say enough was enough. If the whole of Stormwind's army, if Shaw's best agents, couldn't get you back, I was fully prepared to find and drag you back myself."

A feeble smile cracked on the teen's features as he sipped the soup. "You're jesting."

A challenging brow rose, making the boy's smile slowly wither under its scrutiny and telling presence. "I'm not, Anduin. Once Lion's Landing was established and secure and no longer needing my supervision, I intended to hand her off to General Twinbraid and lead my own expedition to find you. You might be willing to employ rather impressive measures to evade guards and Shaw's agents, but you wouldn't do that with me. Nor did I have any intention of allowing you."

The prince's submissive stare dropped down to the puddle of broth left in his bowl. He welcomed the messy blonde bangs to sweep over his forehead and spill into his eyes, hoping that they'd act as curtains to veil his billowing defeat. Ever perceptive and unfalteringly strong, his father was one person who Anduin would've listened to had he shown up in Pandaria and demanded him home. True, he'd sought his independence in the past when he arranged his own tutelage under Velen much to his father's chagrin, but the wilderness of Pandaria was different. The distance was a virtue and a vice, the differentiation oftentimes getting blurred depending on the day and what Anduin was doing at the time. When his mind was consumed with his mission to save the island and keep it a treasure, he could forget about Stormwind and its king. But when the rush of the day finally slowed down, when he was sleeping in unfamiliar bales of hay or in strange Pandaren inns, his mind would wander to the white-stoned Keep he left behind. And he'd find himself missing the velvet chaise couch he'd curl up and fall asleep on in his father's Map Room while the king attended to his work, the sounds of his quill scratching across paper and his occasional muttered comments lulling him to sleep. He'd miss their nightly dinners together and the crude comments his father would make about the Nobles.

Homesickness struck him harder and faster than he could ever prepare for. And while he could shirk away from guards and agents, and continue to bolster the imperativeness of ensuring Pandaria's safety, he knew one person could unravel and undo all of his work. The one person he longed to hug and see all of those nights, to get his wisdom and feel his surety.

"I would've gone back with you."

The whispered words gave Varian a pause. "I know." He said the simple two words with a surge of tenderness that surprised the boy, making him snap his gaze upwards to catch onto his sire's stare. "I have no intention on reliving those days, son. There's more than enough for us to focus on now, and living in the past would get us nowhere. Just know that… I'm getting old. Show your old father mercy."

The tension dissolved in an instant as the prince laughed. "You're not old, father. But I promise you that I'll keep your venerable age in mind before I pick my next island to run around. Maybe I'll even take you with me next time." Though it was clearly said as a joke, Anduin turned a sliver more serious as he considered the older man for a beat. "Would you have done that? If you found me in Pandaria and I had asked you to come with me to save it, would you have done that instead of making me go back?"

Placing the eating utensils on his empty plate, Varian took the time to consider the question. "And ignore Stormwind and the Alliance?"

"You've put the House in charge of the kingdom temporarily before and they didn't completely ruin things. You could easily do it again."

"And in those instances, I've always been accounted for and in a sure place. Even when I was in Pandaria and establishing our foothold there, I still took portals back home to maintain the state." He knew he was arguing a losing battle; even he didn't believe the extent of his words. It was true that the House of Nobles were organized to assume temporary regency over the Kingdom when the ruling family took leave for whatever reason. Sighing heavily, he ran a large hand over his haggard features. "You're also assuming that I would've given you a chance to try to convince me to allow you to run around Pandaria." Leaning forward slowly, he balanced his elbows on his knees and hardened his stare on the boy caught under the reprimanding look. "I heard that you were using shadow magic to mind control your guards, and according to several other accounts, it's not the first time you've done it." He watched as the teen uneasily broke eye contact and looked down at his lap. "Where did you learn it?"

The stiffness in the King's words made it difficult for Anduin to discern his father's emotions; was he angry or curious? Or both? "Some from Velen, some from my own independent studies. I… I felt bad doing it! I try not to do it! And it doesn't work on everyone - a strong will makes it hard for the void magic to confuse their autonomy and take effect." Abruptly, the boy looked up with a sudden panic, eyes widened like saucers. "I've never tried to use it on you, father. I promise you. Or any of the Nobles or-or any leaders in the Alliance. I've only done it on my guards and… um… I did use some shadow magic on hozen that were chasing me. But that's it!"

The King lifted a hand up in the air to signal the boy's panicked emotions to still themselves. "At ease. I trust that it goes without saying you'll garner yourself a bad reputation if you continue to abuse your power in that way. Trust is the foundation that you rule with - trust in your subjects and that your subjects trust you. Manipulating their freewill to bend to you makes you no different from a fear mongering tyrant. Your tools of the trade are different, but the outcome is the same. You both stripe someone of their freewill to impress your own agenda with your power."

The blonde's shoulders drooped forward. "I know, father," he mumbled in a quiet voice. "I give you my word that I will … try not to do it again."

"Good." It was a start. And while Varian was tempted to continue the lecture and ensure his son wouldn't draw on his magical affinity to wrongfully duck his guards, he wouldn't do at the expense of the boy's recovery. So he instead focused on a different aspect. "Have you given those abilities any thought, Anduin? Shadow magic, if honed and sharpened like a blade, can be very versatile in battle. We have our own battlepriests in the Stormwind ranks and they're as potent and deadly as a mage. Don't let Jaina hear you repeat that, but it's true enough."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Anduin looked everywhere but at his father's face. "I don't like shadow. It's not natural to me, and I don't like… I don't like the voices," he quietly intoned back, his words reluctant yet carefully chosen. He looked like he wanted to say more, but was fearful on how to piece together his thoughts. "I… I know you want me to be a warrior. Or to be more than just a healer. But shadow magic isn't something that I'm comfortable mentoring in. The Light is my calling, father. The shadow is…" He closed his eyes and shivered involuntarily as he far too easily recalled the phantom voices that'd slither through his thoughts when he'd call on the void. "It's not right."

The King favored a profound silence, using the time to sip at his wine and carefully look over the boy. While one part of him was disappointed that Anduin yet again turned away from the path of war and destruction, constantly leaning towards creation and healing, he was also relieved that his son wasn't tempted by the voids power. As strong and potent as shadow priests were with their curses and manipulative magic that preyed on the mind, it was a risk to one's own sanity. It wasn't like the arcane that lacked a body and remained faceless, the secondhand effects not nearly as callous as the void.

After emptying the red reserve from the goblet, Varian studied the goblet's polished stem. "What do the voices say?"

Anduin looked up then, eyes immediately snapping to his sire's face. An aggressive, dodgy edge crept into his voice. "To me or in general?"

"Both."

"The voices talk _to_ me, not _at_ me," the prince hesitantly replied back, the topic seeming to unnerve him the longer they dwelt on it. "What they tell you is all half-truths but finding the 'half' part is hard. It's either riddles of the future or promises for greatness with one or two stipulations that stand in your way. They-they make it sound easy to achieve the impossible if you only do the one thing they're telling you to." He shook his head and traced the hem of his nightshirt slowly. "They'll show you things, too, if you're strong enough in the void and immerse yourself deep enough. Visions that can turn to reality if you listen to them."

The king flicked his eyes up from the goblet to once again observe the teen, his disquiet with the conversation as blinding as the pearl-white snow outside. "Do you dislike the shadow because you struggle with it?"

Swallowing thickly, Anduin fought to find his voice. "No. I fear it because of how strong I am in it. And how easily it comes to me. The voices… to many, they're nothing more than quiet whispers at first. The longer you draw on the shadow, the louder and more pronounced they become. But for me… it's-it's like the moment I touch on the void, the voices are there. And they're _loud_ and clear. So loud I can barely hear myself think. You're not supposed to listen to them and _never_ answer them. Ever."

"And have you?"

The prince frowned. "A few times. I… I didn't mean to. No one ever does. They don't like to be ignored and once they realize that you're ignoring them, they manipulate you and make you start hallucinating to forget that it's the void that's talking. I've seen you in places that I shouldn't have when I've used shadow magic, and...I've talked to you when I shouldn't have. That's what it does - it finds your weakness and vulnerabilities, some of your deepest desires and fears, and twists them to serve their purpose." He laughed wryly and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "I know my boundaries and where I'm vulnerable and weak. As strong as I am in the Light, I don't have the mental fortitude to keep my sanity against the void."

Placing the empty goblet on the desk to join his lunch plate and utensils, knowing full-well they'd be cleaned up by the servants when they'd tend to their rooms in the afternoon, Varian stood with a stretch. His expression softened as he considered his son in renewed curiosity; the ways of priesthood had always been a point of contention for the pair. Healers couldn't stand the might of a warrior, in his eyes. They were there to clean up the job done by people cut from the type of cloth Varian was. But there was a whole different side of priesthood that he had forgotten in his hasty assumptions. A side that was arguably more destructive and brutal than all other schools of magic and the most sharpened blades.

And if he was hearing right, his son was strong in it.

"I'll see you use the shadow for myself then," Varian began, quickly ignoring the look of contempt and argument blossom on the boy's features. "In a spar that we'll have after our ride through Winterspring. I'm growing tired and restless of these council sessions, and after my upcoming meeting with Vol'jin to determine a fitting retribution from the attack done to you, I think I'll be in need of physical exertion."

Anduin's soured emotions bled into his deadpanned voice. "Then hand me a sword and you can beat me in the courtyard until you're satisfied."

"No, you'll be unarmed," the king mentally batted away the brazenness driving the youth. But the braziness was nothing more than a thin veil to cover the fear truly gripping the teen. "You're still recovering, Anduin. I have no intention of stunting that or, worse, putting you back into the healers hands. I don't want you pushing yourself physically. So while I'll be armed with Shalamayne, I want to see your capability with the shadow. If it's as threatening as you say, I want to see it for myself. And it'll put me at ease knowing you can't use a simple mind control on me."

The prince's jaw tightened and loosened as he fought to wrangle his own rampant emotions in check. Typically so revered in maintaining his fortitude when in comparison to his easily angered father, he didn't like feeling caught off guard. But the notion of shadow wasn't a passing topic for him; it was a dark side - a proverbial gloom- that lingered so close to his spiritual ethos, taunting and stalking him with its words of a promising future.

Words that promised him peace if he would only get rid of the one person who stood as an iron gate that blotted out all hopes of tender affinity in the world. The one person who was at odds with so many leaders even in his own faction, who bristled and scorned at the concept of negotiations, the one person who had the ability to bring an end to the wars with a mere signature of his name.

The one person who he loved more than all of Azeroth.

He could get out of the spar by lying and saying the blight still made his lungs weak and frail, and he didn't feel himself capable of drawing on any kind of magic, Light or Shadow. Besides, didn't his father forbid him from using the Light to heal his ailments? It could be an easy enough fib. But the outcome would probably mean his father's already suffocatingly protective knack would get worse and his promise to let him out of the lodge at all would be rescinded.

Sighing defeatedly, Anduin grudgingly nodded his head. "If you truly want to, father, then I will. I promise you this though - fumbling with a sword or using magic, the result will be the same." He cracked a sheepish smile that outlined the exhaustion beginning to tug on his features and outline the heavy circles under his eyes. "You'll still win."

"It's not always about winning or losing." Reaching for the tray, content to find the bowl empty and the bread nowhere in sight, the King placed it back on his desk to join his own collection of dishes. "I'll send Wyll to get you something more to eat from the kitchens on my way out but I need to return to the council. Assuming I manage to sit through the sessions today," which was a big assumption when the king was already wanting to slam heads through walls, "I'll be back here before supper. And you best be resting while I'm gone."

Judging by the boy's slow blinks and heavy lids, he doubted he needed to issue an order.

Reaching back to yank a few pillows free from the mound behind him, Anduin had no complaints as his body succumbed to the comforts of the Kal'dorei pillowtop mattress. Much more plush than the Stormwindian variety. "I'd like to attend supper with you in the dining hall tonight. My books are becoming dull company and I could greatly use some conversation and change of scenery," his words were carried with a beseeching tone seeking his father's approval where he would've instead resorted asking forgiveness for doing it anyways if he felt any better. But his chest felt tight like a band constricted his midsection, mocking him with every breath he fought to fill his lungs with.

Varian frowned. "I'll take supper here with you if you'd rather not be alone."

"I appreciate the offer, father, but the High King can't be absent for all of the meals. And it doesn't send a strong message to keep the prince hidden away after an attack."

"The High King is to be wherever he chooses to be. And if I want to spend the rest of my meals in my rooms with my son, then I challenge any Horde or Alliance to voice their displeasure. If they can't manage to have a damned meal without me there, then this summit is more useless than I gave it credit for."

Despite the growing frustrations in the elder Wrynn's words, Anduin grinned tiredly, readjusting the blankets around himself. "It's one meal. Just one meal. And if he's agreeable, I'll even have Thrall sit beside me through it to keep an eye on me. And I don't have to remain long, either. I'll leave after the main course is served if it pleases you."

Running a hand over the back of his neck, feeling every day of his long forty years, Varian didn't miss the uncharacteristic appeasing attempts from his son. And he was chagrined to admit they were having some success, or at least enough to not make him flat out refuse the prince and slam the door on his pleas. If he had it his way, he'd order the next mage he came across to conjure a portal straight to Stormwind's throne room and kick his son into it. The fact that he was having to keep Anduin housed under the same roof as his assailant was nothing less than a sick joke on a cosmic, divine level.

If the fates were trying to teach Varian a lesson through the cruel arrangement, he wasn't having any of it. The only life lessons he'd gathered over his many years and harsh trials was to never let his guard down. Time and time again, it'd been proven to him when he let himself rest, when he stopped looking over his shoulder and acting like his back was against the wall, his life would be shattered once again. His father's assassination. Tiffin's death. His own capture. Anduin's numerous brushes with death in his tender years. The divine bell. Garrosh. It was almost sardonically comical how he mentally categorized Anduin's attack by Sylvanas's hand as yet another example that he'd failed and lowered his guard. The lesson had a fatal risk to it but it hardened his shell just as it was beginning to go soft, reminding him of the nefarious minds that swarmed Azeroth.

But he had to pick his battles as a father.

Lingering at the door with it slightly ajar, Varian looked back at the barely awake boy. He could turn ironclad and oppressive with his rule over the teen, order the royal guards make the prince remain in the room even if they had to resort to bodily force. It wouldn't be the first time they had to do it and certainly wouldn't be the last if Anduin's thirst for unhealthy adventure remained unsated. And naturally, he'd find himself with a very unbecoming, angry teenager for the remainder of the summit.

No, maybe it wasn't about picking his battles but about fighting them with cunning finesse.

"Fine," he began with a heavy sigh, ignoring the radiant smile that cut across the priest's face. He almost felt a morsel of guilt. "_If_ you are still feeling well by the time I come back before the meal, then I'll allow you to come with. But I'm going to have Wyll bring you tea and more broth in the meantime. And you are to rest, Anduin. Understood?"

"Yes, father. I'll spend all of my very limited waking hours drinking the tea and broth."

Satisfied and feeling far too relieved that his plan was going as well as it was, Varian fought to hide the relief from his expression. It was all about performance and maintaining face if he wanted to pull it off. Maybe a part of him was remorseful at his dodgy hand he intended to play, resorting to clandestine tactics best reserved for the war room among his military advisors. But the trials of fatherhood were arguably more treacherous and confusing than all of his campaigns combined.

After leveling a final departing smile, Varian slipped from the room and shut the door resolutely closed. He waited a few seconds, earning questioning glances from the guards, before ordering Wyll be brought to him. The salt-and-pepper haired servant came to his King's side in an instant, his face contorted in mild concern as he looked past Varian towards the closed door behind him. Or rather, his young charge that resided inside of the room behind the door.

Inclining his head gently to gesture the House Wrynn chamberlain walk with him, the High King dropped his voice to a conspiring low tone. "Bring the prince the same broth he had for lunch and whatever tea Thrall's been making him."

"At once, Your Majesty."

Once they turned down a corridor, Varian dubbed the distance enough to unveil his greatest tool against an overly curious, charismatically rebellious teenager. "And make sure you put dreamfoil oil in it. The alchemists here at the Lodge will have it in their supply stores."

Wyll eyed the monarch out of the corner of his gaze, his brow creased in concern and confusion. "Dreamfoil oil, Sire? Is His Highness having troubles finding sleep?"

"Something like that."


	8. Chapter 8

Anduin had a love hate relationship with sleep, as so many teenagers his age did. In a way, it was comforting to know that he finally found a similar concept he could relate to his fellow agemates with. If he ever became acquainted or friends with anyone else his age. The closest he'd ever had to a friend not decades his senior was Wrathion, who was ironically less than five years old in human years but mentally and physically at the prince's level.

But one thing was certain; sleep was a vice and virtue for the priest, taking great enjoyment in catching up on much needed rest and yet dodging it during the day in exchange for reading or attending to other matters. Sleep was a necessary evil but an evil all the same; a very inefficient evil.

The smell of burning lamp oil, smoldering wood, and his father's whiptail soaps from Uldum slowly dragged him out from a deep sleep that left him disoriented and dazed. The soft sateen pillow beneath his cheek and the plush fur blankets tucked in around his body were almost enough to convince him to go back to sleep, but an empty hollowness in his stomach craving food refused to heed the temptations. Anduin let loose a low litany of groans as he rolled his body to his back and slowly pawed at his heavy lids, exhaustion stubbornly lifting from his form like a slow curtain.

He stared up in confusion at the ceiling above his bed. The rafters in the telltale Kal'dorei fashion reminded him he was in the Lodge in Winterspring, but what didn't make sense was how _dark_ the ceiling was. How long had he been asleep?

Blinking rapidly, he fought to collate his memories; Thrall had seen him that morning, his father had returned at midday with lunch, Wyll had brought him afternoon tea and broth, and then he'd been unable to fight off his tiredness and thought a nap before supper would be fitting. It'd been only mid-afternoon when he finally bowed in defeat to the flood of exhaustion that overtook him like a tidal wave, so intense he could barely manage to keep his eyes open. Maybe he'd been pushing himself too much. Maybe his father was right.

But it was only supposed to be a nap.

The sound of a quill scratching across fine vellum paper almost as smooth as glass made Anduin blink. Pushing himself up to his elbows and letting the fur blankets fall into a collapsed heap at his lap, he looked around the room in confusion. It was basked in a clouding darkness brought on from the gloomy night resting outside their bedroom window. The fire in the hearth whistled and crackled with a melodic, steady tune that fell into harmonious tempo with the dancing quill making a jig across the parchment. His pale blue eyes that twinged with residual sleep landed on the partially slumped over figure at the desk, the owner of the quill, who's broad back was turned away from him and seemed unknowing of his recent wakefulness. The King's hair was still tied up in its messy ponytail and his wore the same regal outfit sans his plate armor from hours prior.

"How long have I been asleep? It feels like ages." He winced at the scratchiness and disuse sound of his voice.

The quill immediately stopped. "A few hours, so not entirely far from," Varian grinned weakly and angled himself more fully towards the boy, turning his back on his work proverbially and physically. His stormy beryl eyes ran up and down the prince's figure a few times, as though looking for any discernible issues that'd be present for him to take note of.

It was a look that Anduin found himself loathing and loving in the same breath, for while it was undeniably overprotective, it was the same look his father used to give him before his personalities splintered and the father he knew was suddenly gone. Or who he thought was gone. That look reminded him that he wasn't. "I think I overslept," he mumbled miserably and looked over towards the window and the blustery blizzard night landscape. "Don't tell me I missed supper."

"I can lie to you if it makes the reality any easier. But truly, you missed nothing more than a room full of posturing and pathetic attempts of forced camaraderie over heavily herbed food."

Anduin blinked away from the window and looked back at his father with a creased frown. "You went?"

The question gave the King a pause. "I did," he answered slowly with a notable cautious step in his voice. Beside him was a new bottle of wine - another Darnassian reserve that the prince was positive wasn't his father's first or second choice. While the elder Wrynn would enjoy a bold red during suppers at the Keep, he was more partial to the full-bodied Menethil harvests as opposed to the fragrant Kal'dorei variety. "When I came here to change before the meal, you were exhausted and barely moved." Anduin narrowed his eyes on his sire when Varian uncharacteristically looked away to grab at his goblet and steal a sip. "Clearly, you've been taking too many liberties with your health and will need to put better focus on getting better. Dinner parties with the Horde can wait. And before you even think to accuse me of 'letting' you oversleep, it was at Thrall's advising that I ensure you get enough rest."

The priest slowly shook his head and dragged his fingers through his blonde hair, working the digits between the short strands. "No, I don't blame you. I… I guess I have been rather reckless with my recovery," he lamely replied. "I would've liked to attend but I understand your reasoning. I would like to attend at least _one_ meal at the hall before we go home, though. Even if it's just to make an appearance at your side. It's important that we show solidarity and strength and not… hiding me away in some room."

"Recovering isn't hiding. Would you tell your patients to hide in the infirmary or remain there to recover?"

"I've never had a crown prince as my patient so I don't feel equipped to answer that question honestly."

"A diplomatic weave. You've been spending too much time with the Nobles." Reaching for the bottle, the King sloshed the maroon liquid into the glass for a hearty refill. "Unfortunately, I have a meeting scheduled soon but I'll send Wyll to the kitchens to get you a late supper. You should eat something more than a liquid diet. I'm not liking how little you've been having."

Mentally shoving away his father's pecking concern over such inconsequential matters as his food, Anduin threw back the blankets and stood up on wobbly feet. It felt good to stretch his limbs, though his muscles had a lamentation of complaints to lodge, each one croaking and squealing in protest from their dormant neglect. Maybe that spar with his father would be a welcomed change of pace. "A meeting? At this time?"

"It wasn't my first choice but a logical one to avoid any interference from others. I'm dreading it enough that I don't need Tyrande or Jaina using it as a personal platform to stage their own agendas."

"Who's the meeting with?"

He watched his father watch him with a cloudy, hesitant expression over the rim of his goblet as he took a liberal chug of it. Whatever the meeting was, it was bad enough to push the King to indulging to take the edge off. Not that his father would ever resort to becoming intoxicated before a state-mandated affair, but the soothing essence of alcohol did have the habit of silencing Lo'Gosh. "You're not coming."

Anduin blinked. "How can I invite myself if I don't even know who the meeting is with or what the purpose is?"

"I know you. And you'll invite yourself. So let's cut out the middle and get right to the end of the argument. You're not coming."

Walking around the two beds, the prince paused in the doorway to the bathroom to regard his father with a guarded, quizzical look. Armed with a deadly dose of self-righteousness as sharp as Shalamayne and filled with a desire to do whatever measures were necessary to bring good to the world, the prince was rarely ever deterred from a path once his mind was set to it. He was accumulating an impressive knack of obstinately doing what he felt was needed and right in the moment, even if it meant acting defiant to his father and king's word. It was a hard concept, juggling the two identities. While a son might rebel against their father, a prince defying a king's order could be considered grounds for an official reprimand. He couldn't ever imagine his father resorting to tossing him in the Stockades, but he'd been locked in his rooms at the Keep more times than he cared to admit.

The stubbornness was a Wrynn trait. His father was the only one to blame.

"Are you meeting with Thrall?"

"No."

"Then you're meeting with Sylvanas."

"Stop asking."

"It's Vol'jin, isn't it?"

"And you're _not_ coming, Anduin!" The goblet was slammed down on the desk with such force the sanguine liquid listed carelessly over the rim and splashed on the reports scattered over the desk. "Do not argue with me on this. I am your father and you _will_ listen to me. My word is final."

The last four words made the boy stiffen in unease, his jaw tightening in disquiet as he debated the intensity of their purpose. But he bashed into any fortifying walls of autocracy and oppression his father intended to exact on him with a dogged lift of his chin, his words careening in a fluid rhythm leeking of challenge. "Then I'm not going as your son but as the crown prince who intends to discuss comeuppance from an attack made against me."

Varian leaned forward slowly and hardened his stare on the teen. "If you want to play that card, then as your king I order you to stay here. My patience is already thin. Do not test it."

"I'm the only one who was there during the attack," he began in a rush of words, the obstinate order staining the air and crackling it with jarring intensity. He'd gone against orders before. "It's only fitting that I be there to talk about the requital process. Even in Stormwind, we try to honor a victim's request when their perpetrator is sentenced."

"Then it's a good thing we're not in Stormwind."

"You're being unreasonable!" The prince exploded in a slightly loud voice as he felt the floor falling out from under him. Though leagues softer than his father's screams, it was much louder than what he normally used. "And you're going to keep being unreasonable during these talks with Vol'jin. You're going to… going to…"

"Going to what?" The High King slowly pushed himself to stand to his full-height, the movement triggered from the teen's raised tone. "Going to act as a ruler should when their heir has been nearly killed at a _peace _summit? Going to show strength when and where it needs to be done? I'll tell you what I'm _not_ going to do." Anduin tensed but didn't move as his father crossed the gap that rested between them in a few quick strides. "I'm not going to allow my child to beg for his attacker's mercy. Not anymore. Not again. Garrosh's trial was enough. And to think that I was willing to see your way of things, to consider a route of clemency. You're damned lucky that Thrall put you on travel restriction, because had he not, I would've sent you back to Stormwind the second you were awake. And I've half a mind to take a chance and do it anyways. Do not push me, Anduin."

It was the stilling stiffness to his father's tense tone, feral and low, that first gave Anduin warning that he was nearing the end of the man's fortitude. The despairingly small gap between them was the second. He was easily in arms reach now. And while his father hadn't laid hands on him since the last summit they attended in Darnassus, he could still feel the iron grip that fractured his arm. The phantom pain almost made him shrink back under the bellowing tones that were carried with an accosting baritone tremor. And Anduin was faced yet again with the lifelong conundrum of trying to determine if he was a son talking to his father or a prince addressing his king. It was a debacle he fought with for his entire life, his existence in the world coming about for one purpose and one purpose only. But where Varian could've kept his heir at an arm's distance, shying away from any and all traces of paternal endearment, he didn't. As brute as he was, his father's tenderness for him had its own unique flavor, seasoned exotically from his splintered personalities.

Looking over the creased lines mingling with the scars that fragmented his face, Anduin took note of his father's seasoned features. They were features of a warrior before a king, and he knew that the man longed for the heat of battle over the cacophony of the petitioner's chamber. But while he'd always seen his father as a pillar of strength and fortitude, he couldn't ignore the age that was stalking him. The High King had just celebrated his fortieth birthday. His body was still chiseled from his martial affinity and mastery with his swordsmanship, but the lines of tiredness were looking more pronounced to the prince.

He hadn't been kind to his father in the past. He'd defied him for months in Pandaria. And now he was pushing his agenda to do it again. As devout and disciplined as he was in the Light, he had neglected his role as a son.

Blinking rapidly at the realization, the teen lowered his head and dropped his eyes submissively down to the floor. "Then at least let me tell you my part of it before you meet with Vol'jin." He glanced up at the king through the blonde bangs spilling down over his forehead. "If you'll allow me that much."

The sudden relenting from his son made Varian sigh - expelling his building tension with the air that passed from his lungs - and he nodded slowly. "That's fine." He met the boy's offered olive branch with one of his own. "I'll likely get back too late to discuss the outcome tonight - I expect you to be asleep by the time I return. But I give you my word I'll brief you tomorrow morning."

Grabbing at the lip of the bathroom door to steady himself, trying to downplay the weakness that still clawed at his body, Anduin forced himself to make eye contact with his father. "The attack was my fault," his words came out bolded, making the High King flinch slightly and frown. "I-I don't remember all of it. For some reason, my memories of the day are filled with holes. Kind of like I was intoxicated or something."

"We'll talk about how you know what that's like some other time." Varian rubbed the bridge of his nose. "From what you do remember, how do you know it was your fault? That's a lofty measure of guilt you're willing to shoulder, son, and it's going to have consequences."

While part of what he was saying was true, Anduin allowed his mind to fill in the gaps that he couldn't remember. But he knew that his father would undoubtedly approach the situation with a thirst for blood. "I know," he took a deep breath. "I saw Sylvanas and Nathanos talking just beyond the treeline, but I didn't realize it was them until I got closer. I was… I was curious who it was and why they were out there so far from the Lodge. I thought maybe they needed help and I should check on them." He shook his head remorsefully and almost buckled under his father's quiet stare. "That's where my memories start to fade. I kind of remember them yelling at me when I got close enough and I saw who it was. I don't remember much after that. Running… hearing a bow string… and then waking up to you."

Varian said nothing for a spell as he considered the boy, searching his face for any sign of deception. Priest or not, he didn't put it past the prince to stretch the truth - or flat out lie - for what he considered a benevolent cause. But he knew Anduin better than Anduin knew himself. He could read him like an open book, and his child was never good at lying. "That complicates things," he grumbled, eyes not leaving his son's. "The fact that you were nearly killed gains us a foothold above theirs. Rules of engagement for the summit were explicitly stated that hostile force can't be used outside of defending oneself. And even then, it'll have to be deemed necessary and reasonable for the circumstance. He'll argue you made the first attack and her response was appropriate for whatever was being discussed. I assume you don't remember?"

Anduin shook his head.

"Good. If you do, pretend you never did." Looking towards the wall for a moment, the king was quiet for a few seconds, the storm in his gaze churning with thoughts that were afforded a respectful silence from the boy. Anduin knew that look, and knew when to stay quiet. "If it's determined you were at fault for breaking laws of engagement, you'll be reprimanded by the Crown." Him. "You understand that, right?"

"I do."

"I don't intend on letting this matter get to that point. He's already acknowledged wrongdoing by having his leaders treat you." Crossing back to his desk, Varian rifled through his ledgers and books until he found a particularly thick collection of rough parchment bound together by a stiff spiraled edge. It was the determined laws of engagement signed into authority for the summit by both sides, a feat that took a week's worth of back and forth negotiations. "Put it out of your mind and focus on resting. You'll hear the outcome in the morning."

And as his father's booming presence left the room, rest was the last thing that Anduin would be finding in his harrowing solitude.

* * *

"Even if she's claiming self-defense to neutralize an _intent_ of force - non-hostile force, I'll add - she failed to adhere to proportionality. We have two eye witnesses, Thrall and yourself, who saw the three of them arguing. The de-escalation was already in motion then. Anduin claims he was running _away_ from them when the shot was fired. At that point, the prince was already attempting to withdraw."

Vol'jin looked from the High King down to the collection of decrees and regulations outlining the summit laws they enacted for the week. It was filled with distinguishing rules that fought to ensure peace was sustained during their monumental meeting, and the allowance of force should one side have the need to use it. "She bi sayin' he was spying on har an' di Blightcaller when dem be havin' ah private conversation away from di lodge. Now, me an' Thrall saw dem arguing. Dat was it. If you bi talkin' about rule ah engagement, di prince was di first tuh act wid intent of non-hostile force."

Taking a deep, heavy sigh, Varian shifted in his chair and looked across the council room towards the windows. In a two handfuls of hours, the vacant chairs in the room would be occupied once again by the leaders and their trusted advisors, the discussions for the war reprimands back into full swing. But this session was off the books so to speak, held at surreptitious hours to avoid detention and any outside influence on both sides, Horde and Alliance alike. Just Vol'jin and Varian sat at the woefully large conference table, though the room didn't seem large enough for their sharp attitudes. Not even their guards were afforded admittance; they were left outside the closed-door session, each set straining to hear for the slightest sounds of unease to spring into action.

"The prince was spying? That's what she's saying?" Varian countered with a glowering arch of his brow. "That's ridiculous. Why would I send a child to do a job that agents better taught can manage? The accusation is ludicrous and obviously fabricated. Anduin isn't trained to spy."

"But he is trained."

The King frowned. He didn't like where the conversation was headed. "My son's training and the extent of it has nothing to do with him being attacked at a _peace_ summit." He slammed a fist down on the papers scattered in front of him. "We both agreed on these laws for a ceasefire. Both sides were in agreement that _no_ force, hostile or not, was to be undertaken with the exception of _proportional _self-defense." His clasped fist pounded down on the very doctrine caught under his fury with a few of the words, trying to smash their importance into the troll. "She completely ignored his attempts of de-escalation according to his account. He said he was running from her when she shot at him. That makes her in violation."

"Spies aren't protected parties undah di laws," one of Vol'jin's thick fingers traced a line on a ledger. "So de-escalation is nuh needed."

The reserve of rage that Varian promised himself he wouldn't let bubble up, heated by the raised hackles of Lo'Gosh, began to do just that. "A _spy_? No, Anduin is a priest by discipline and a prince by birth. And if you want to strike out the completely irrefutable fact that she ignored any de-escalation efforts, then so be it. She violated the other mandate restricting an assassination attempt on a civilian head of state. Anduin may be a child by age but he's still Stormwind's heir apparent and Crown Prince."

"If yuh be tellin' mi he's de head ah state, den he's part ah your military leadership. I know how Stormwind works and is structured. If he's nuh one, den he's nuh di odda. And assassination on military leadership for reprisal is allowed."

The High King felt his already woefully low reserve of patience begin to dissolve considerably. It was already late, the hour likely nearing midnight, and he was slated to be up early in the morning for another round of sessions. "You are conveniently and stupidly ignoring the fact that he did not use any hostile force. We're in neutral territory, so the prince is free to walk wherever he wants. It's Sylvanas's own negligence that she chose to have a 'private conversation' out in the open wilderness instead of using logic." Threading his fingers together, Varian leaned forward on the table. Even without the bulk of his plate armor, his naturally imposing stature granted him an inkling of intimidation. "What leg are you standing on, Vol'jin? You obviously damned her acts before if you abided by my earlier ultimatum."

The troll lips curled around the heavy tusks protruding from them. His demeanor remained unchanged and impressively unphased, which served to annoy Varian to no end. If anything, the Warchief seemed inconvenienced with the whole situation. "We didn't know di full story den. Now we do. And it's nuh so black and white."

"Then let me make this more black and white for you. The Horde can barely afford to pay reparations - Lor'themar made that clear earlier today during our sessions. So tell me, are you willing to throw the Horde into a war over the Banshee?"

Vol'jin laughed dryly. "Are yuh willing tuh throw your Alliance inna war ovuh a boy?"

And just like that, all of Varian's composure - what little he had - and poise was thrown out the window to join the cold elements in the blizzard. Maybe it was the late hour. Or maybe it was because his teenage child had already drained the remaining patience before the meeting. "That _boy _is my son and Stormwind's ruler-in-waiting. And we arranged this summit out of courtesy for _you_. I had the chance to dismantle your pathetic faction but I didn't. I had another chance to make these reprimands in the comforts of my home but I didn't. I've gone out of _my_ way for you, against all the advising and suggestions. And where has that gotten me, _Warchief_?" He didn't realize he was yelling until he paused for breath, his lungs suddenly aching for air.

"My son was attacked - and don't insult me by suggesting a fifteen year old is a spy. A fifteen year old who you saw, Thrall saw, and Sylvanas and Nathanos clearly saw. He made no effort to conceal his presence because he wasn't spying! You have five minutes to convince me not to storm that disgusting capital of yours. I did it before, Vol'jin, and it's fresh in my mind. You best believe I will do it again."

A profound, heavy silence fell on the table in the aftermath of the High King's reverberating words. Though simply put, they carried immense impact for both sides still recovering from the expense and treachery of a war. Orgrimmar and Pandaria weren't far in their past. "We nuh lookin' tuh start a fourth war," the troll began in a quiet tone neither filled with malice or anger. It was calculating and shrewd, as if he put weight into each word before selecting it. For that much, Varian found himself developing a small amount of respect for the warchief. Unlike the Wrynn dynasty that inherited the throne, raised with the knowledge and skills to prepare them for the crown, the Horde warchief was appointed. And Vol'jin was handed pieces of a shattered faction left in shambles in the aftermath of a tyranny. "Wah is it yuh be askin' for, Wrynn?"

That was a good question, and one the High King had been repeatedly asking himself for the last few days. "What I want you can't give me. The price of my son's life, even an attempt on it, is incalculable and the retribution should be appropriately commiserating to the act. If I asked for Sylvanas's life in return, would you give me that satisfaction?"

Vol'jin canted a brow and spoke dryly. "Yuh boy still breathes. Dis nuh be ah place for yuh to take out yuh rage."

The answer didn't strike the human with any surprise; compared to his predecessor, the Warchief embraced an unexpected measure of pragmatism and poise. And while Varian clashed with that mindset with his brusque approach better favored for the ruthless battlefields, he could accept it nonetheless. "Then what is it you're able to give? Clearly, resource and monetary retribution are already limited from the war reprimands."

The troll grinned wryly. "Dun tell me di High King dun have ah price in mind. Yuh know exactly wuh yuh want, Wrynn."

White-knuckled fingers gripped each digit together tighter at the Darkspear's words; it was true, Varian rarely approach a conference table - war or political - without an idea of what his preferred outcome was. But still a Wrynn and raised in a shared household of several Nobles mixed of different kingdoms and dynasties, he was well versed in the art of tense negotiations, when he did choose to entertain it. Diplomacy was a fancy word for poised lying, and that was one notion Lo'Gosh refused to heed. But negotiations could be approached like a battle, where he'd consider his adversary with a critical eye, and making the first move was rarely a preferred route. No, in negotiations, it was about making the counterparty set the starting point to learn how malleable and willing they were able to go. Or not go.

But Varian was never patient when it came to dialectic warfare. Especially where his son was a concern. Patience be damned.

"I want her and her disgusting faction entirely out of the Horde. The next words out of your mouth will be speaking for the Horde, _Warchief_. She laid hands on my son, nearly claimed his life and intended on _raising him _as a Forsaken as an insult to _me_!" A fisted hand slammed down on the table, upsetting a few papers. "So tell me, do _you_ allow attacks on innocent children and necromancy? I've led a successful campaign against one Lich master - I'll not set Azeroth on a path where my son will have to lead another campaign when he assumes the crown. If you don't condemn her acts, then you - and the rest of the Horde - condone them. Will you stand behind what she has done?"

Time slowed down to a near halt as Vol'jin quietly considered the High King, his gaze calculating. "Di Horde had spoken and we dun stand wid har in dis."

"Then you agree to my terms."

"Removin' an entire people from our faction wen we be rebuildin'," Vol'jin's words came out in a slow, hesitant tenor, skepticism and doubt leaking from his voice, "is nuh a smart move. Di Forsaken fought wid us at di Siege, Wrynn. Uh can't throw dem out from one act. Nuh a whole nation." Either sensing or seeing the argument and aggression begin to front on the High King's face, the Warchief sighed heavily and lifted a hand to signal he wasn't done yet. "As a father of sons, uh undastand di rage yuh have. Uh wud feel di same. But as uh leader, uh know when tuh ignore dat rage, even if means swallowin' muh pride." He shook his head slowly. "Uh can nuh remove di Forsaken wen we be needin' dem now more den evuh."

For a few seconds, Varian almost forgot to breathe. If the chairs beside them were occupied with Alliance and Horde leaders and advisors, if the meeting room wasn't barren save for the two most prominent leaders in all of Azeroth, the High King would've embraced his anger at the emotional empathy the troll tried playing. He was immune to matters of the heart, or so he claimed. And maybe if the troll spoke longer on his own personal life with his children, Varian would steel his resolve and turn cold at the conversation. But Vol'jin didn't. And neither did the High King bristle and burn at the empathy.

His stormy blue eyes dropped down to the parchment on the table. "Ten million gold from the Undercity paid directly to House Wrynn. As Anduin is still a child, that's a personal retribution I'm demanding as his father. As the High King, retribution will come from ensuring prosperity and safety for Azeroth, using my son's near brush with death as the springboard for the campaign. I'll be sending periodic agents to the Undercity to inspect her apothecaries and seize anything involving the Blight. Her other projects will remain her own and untouched by the Alliance. But the Blight is too dangerous a toxin to go unchecked."

"Jus di Blight? Yuh nah be touchin' anyting else?"

Varian shook his head slowly. "Nothing else. The inspections will go on for three months, during which all production of anything pertaining to the Blight is be brought to an end. If you won't expatriate the Forsaken from the Horde, then you'll allow the Alliance to limit her projects."

"And afta di three months? Wah den?"

"After that, the Alliance inspections will end," Varian leaned back against his chair, eyes roaming the troll's visage. "But hear this - if I get word that she's resumed harvesting the Blight, or any similar strands, the Alliance will get involved again through force and war, if need be. So I suggest to _you_, Warchief, that you enforce order."

Vol'jin slowly nodded his head, though Varian wasn't sure if it was more a gesture of contemplation or affirmation that he agreed. But his wondering was put to bed by the troll's words. "Der won't bi anodder Lich for our children tuh inherit, uh promise yuh dat." The troll pressed himself to stand to his full height, an act that was immediately mirrored by the High King, and extended a hand across the table that separated them. "Now wi agree on di terms, King Wrynn. Yuh have muh apology for wuh happened. Uh hear from Thrall dat di boy is recoverin' well."

Looking from the troll's outstretched, offered hand - the first step to solidifying the retribution efforts he was due from the assault - to Vol'jin's earnest expression, Varian didn't hesitate. The gold would be welcomed and the House of Nobles would try to gobble up what they could of it without success. But the true prize was enforcing part of his control on the Forsaken, namely Sylvanas. While he didn't hunger for more power, he naturally sought to take unbalanced, chaotic lands shaken by travesty to bring into deserved salvation. The Horde had their zones and nations, many of them fractured and scrambling to redefine themselves after a brutal shattering, and he embraced the opportunity to ensure their rebuilding was done in a manner that he approved of.

His hand reached across the table and gripped Vol'jin's in a tight clasp.


	9. Chapter 9

_The thunderstorm hadn't let up for hours and, judging by its howling cry, had no intention of doing so for the remainder of the night. But it wasn't the storm brewing and festering outside the Keep that woke Varian. No, it was a barely audible knock in the vicinity of his bedroom door, so quiet that he almost missed it among the storm's rancorous cacophony. _

_His bedroom - the royal chambers - was basked in flooding darkness interrupted by the occasional crash of lightning shocking the sleepy interior with a blinding radiance that lasted only a second. The King turned over in bed, rolling on his back in the middle of the sprawling mattress despairingly too large for just one person. Though he could've stretched out to comfortably claim the entire bed for himself, he still couldn't bring himself to do it. A widower for five years, not a day went by that he didn't loathe the symbolic solitude of the cold side of the bed. No matter how many times his arms would stretch across the blankets towards the opposite side, hoping the impossible to feel the warmth of his beloved wife and queen, he knew he was only torturing himself. Tiffin was gone. Stolen from him far too early than he was ready, and only mere months after the highly anticipated birth of their son and crown prince. _

_Grief was a strange thing, clinging to him with the intensity of a jealous mistress and refusing to let the King escape its melancholic wrath. Depression stalked his waking hours and visions of her death consumed his dreams. Never would he forget the scarlet mess clumping her gilted hair together, wet from spilling out her life essence. Benevolent and so tenderhearted, his Queen had insisted on trying a diplomatic hand with the rioting crowds, begging him not to turn to a violent course to end them. How irony had taunted him and his family that day. How much of a fool he was proven. His wife's heart was blinded by her good tidings; such selflessness was a rarity not shared by his own people who'd murdered her. In the fragile moment of a few seconds, his entire world had shattered. His wife and Queen was taken from him and he was left a single-father to an infant son. _

_Varian massaged the bridge of his nose as a rumble of thunder rang out above the din of turbulent rains. And just as he was about to disregard the miniscule knock as an accidental bump from the guards stationed outside the bedroom, a much louder, more purposeful rap on the door - plated fingers meeting wood - echoed through his chambers. And in the seconds that followed, the sleep that lingered in the young monarch's body was hastily chased away by a surge of duty and authority. The guards rarely bothered him at night, let alone when he was in the personal recluse of his private chambers. For them to seek his audience must have meant something incredibly pressing for their relatively new re-birthed realm still finding her legs. Stormwind was still suffering the growing pains any adolescent did, and Varian silently wondered when the Keep would stop feeling brand new to him. Padding barefoot across the room towards the door, the plush rug pile squished between his toes with the same lushness it had on the first night he spent in the Keep. It felt as untouched and new as it did that night, alien and yet home in the same breath. Despite being born in Stormwind, in the old Keep that was no longer, Varian fought to acquaint himself with his kingdom and home. _

_Lordaeron would always be his second home. _

_His fingers hooked through his long chestnut hair that hung freely down his shoulders, working through the renegade snarls that managed to grip the tresses in the heat of the night. If he was needed in the throne room or petitioner's chambers or war room, he'd likely retreat back into his rooms to make himself more presentable for the impromptu meeting. But his heart begged that whatever news his guards had on the other side of the door wouldn't be bad. Though he'd once listened - mostly through brotherly humoring - to Arthas drone on and on about the sanctity and grace of the Light and the power of prayer, Varian had long stopped turning to faith when it unfairly took his wife from him. And yet as his hand lingered inches above the doorknob, he sent a quick prayer to the Light that the news wouldn't be devastating to their new kingdom. _

_Yanking the door open, Varian blinked at the awkward-looking guard that stood on patrol. He wasn't looking at the king, but rather downwards. Curiosity hiking up, he followed the stare southernly and stopped as it landed on a mop of messy blonde hair and big, tearfilled blue eyes. _

_That explained who the first quiet knock was from. _

"_Anduin! What are you-" The King turned from the five-year old clutching a stuffed murloc towards the guard still eyeing the young prince in awkwardness, not sure if he was meant to return to his post or wait to be dismissed. "What is my son doing here? Is everything well?" _

_Plate clanked and clinked together as the guard immediately shifted to regard his sire with a dutiful expression. "The Prince has demanded your audience, Your Majesty. He… it sounded… urgent." _

_Varian frowned. In front of him, the boy's bottom lip began to quiver. "Urgent? Is he ok? Has something happened to his rooms? Have you patrolled them?" _

"_Of course, Sire. We've found nothing amiss with his chambers. He approached us claiming to want to-" _

"_-Can I sleep with you tonight, Father?" _

_The meek, little voice cut like a knife, though it was almost entirely engulfed by the clattering thunder that clapped through the air, making the young prince jump slightly and inch closer towards his father. But Varian didn't budge; not from the roaring storm or his son's fearful expression and tiny voice. The surge of authority that gripped his nerves moments ago suddenly recoiled like a tide returning back to sea, making him feel leagues older than he was and so much more exhausted. _

"_Anduin…" _

"_Please!" The boy's small arm tightened around the stuffed murloc, its boggly eyes comically watching the King in waiting for the verdict. "I… I don't want to sleep alone. The storm is scary. It'll only be for one night!" _

_Varian sighed and ran his hand over his face. It wasn't an easy answer. Not for him. If he were anyone else, if Anduin was anyone else's son except for the King of Stormwind's, there'd be no hesitation in ushering the child in to reassure him through one stormy night. But Varian and Anduin's dynamic wasn't so simple. He wasn't just a father rearing a son - he was a father raising a king. One day, admittedly in the very distant future, Anduin would be expected to assume the mantle of ruling and raise up to the full potential of his birthright, taking the throne and crown as per his duty. Feeble matters of storms and lightning would be the least of his worries when that fated day came. No, the true nightmares and atrocities were bodily and real, were able to look you straight in the eye on the battlefield and claim everything you knew. One day, Anduin would have to learn that storms were nothing compared to the true threats that pursued them. _

_And yet, Anduin was still so young. _

_Dropping his hand from his face, Varian looked back down at his son. With hair the color of Westfall's summer wheat and eyes as blue as the reflective waters from Stone Cairn Lake in Elwynn, Anduin had inherited so much from his mother and showcased the finer features of their kingdom at the same time. Though he was small and slender, even for his frail years, his face still had the familiar curves of a Wrynn. There was no doubt at all whose son he was. And while the king wanted desperately to enforce a heavyhand when it came to his child, he simply couldn't. Not in this. A cold bed and lone solitude taunted him from the room._

_Sighing defeatedly, Varian shoved the door open wider, inviting the boy in. "_One_ night," he sternly commanded in a tone not dissimilar from the one he used in court. "You're back in your own room tomorrow. Understood?" _

_A boyish smile shattered the depressed, fearful expression on Anduin's face as he perked up. "Understood!" But the smile was smothered with worry as he lifted his stuffed murloc. Its gangly arms jiggled at the motion. "Can Pickle come with?" _

_The King looked down at the cross-eyed Murloc with another sigh. Out of the corner of his gaze, he saw the guard stationed beside the door crack a smile. "Pickle can come, too." _

_With a cheerful glee that rivaled the intensity of the storm outside, Anduin darted forward, rushing past Varian through the door and into the bedroom's collapsing darkness. The soft pitter-patter of his barefeet grew more distant before they eventually disappeared entirely as he presumably vaulted himself onto the immense bed. Glancing into the room to spot the pajama-clad child making himself comfortable in the sea of pillows and blankets, the fear of the storm long forgotten in his victory, the King lingered to address his guards. "Return to your stations." _

_After closing the door behind him and making the trek back to the oversized bed, Varian flopped back down in his spot that still had some residual warmth. As large as the bed was and as small as Anduin was, the two could've shared the sleeping arrangement harmoniously without noticing the other. And yet his son had decided not to get comfortable in the spot that was once reserved for his departed mother, but rather right in the dead center of the bed, tucked rather close to him. _

_The rain pelted angrily against the large balcony resting beyond the set of closed doors, the torrential downpour occasionally drowned out from the choir of thunder. A bolt of lightning struck particularly close and made the boy clutch Pickle - Varian didn't know where he got the name from - tighter and burrow his face against the King, somehow thinking in his childish logic that his father was strong and capable enough to take on the brunt of the storm._

_And while Varian was tempted to chide his child for the juvenile, ridiculous reaction to weather, hoping to instill courage early on, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The boy was on the eve of his sixth birthday, and though he'd only seen the white-washed stonework of Stormwind and the rolling hills of Elwynn Forest, Anduin looked at the world with an unjaded perspective graced to him with an uncynical eye. He wasn't hardened by the selfishness of the world. Despite never having left the Kingdom, the prince saw the world more clearly and unadulterated compared to his sire. Armed with the naivety of any child, it also served him well as a suit of armor, protecting him from the callousness of Azeroth's true colors. _

_He hoped his son would never lose that, even when he'd inherit the crown one day._

_Turning onto his side to face the small figure nestled against him, the King welcomed the crashing thunder and blinding lightning. Because of it, he wasn't alone anymore. "Good night, Anduin." _

"Father! Father!"

The memory-ladened dream slowly dissolved as wakefulness was rudely shoved onto Varian in the form of his son's voice - now much deeper and masculine than the small voice from his memory - and hands shaking him. Exhaustion created fractured spiderwebs through his thoughts, making chasms and fissures that stubbornly refused to allow logic to reign right away. Groaning a little as he forced his eyes open, the King ran a heavy hand over his haggard face, digits pressing along the raised scars zigzagging through the skin. "What is it, Anduin?" He grumbled in a tired voice, looking from the teen - still sickly pale with gaunted features and glassy eyes - towards the early morning sun reflecting off the snowscape outside their window.

The priest shifted his weight uneasily, apparently made uncomfortable by his father's response. "A messenger came. The guards knocked but you didn't wake so I answered. They said you'd… um… you weren't at the breakfast session this morning."

Shoving himself to his elbows, Varian took a better look out the windows, spotting the sun's hanging placement in the sky and judging it to be an hour or two past dawn. "So I wasn't," came his flat words. "Overslept apparently. They should be more than capable without me - we're in the drafting stages anyways. My presence isn't pressing."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me," the prince smiled weakly and sat on the edge of his bed. "You got in late last night. I tried staying up to hear how the meeting with Vo'jin went but… I guess I needed the sleep."

Varian threw the blankets back and rubbed his hands over his jawline, frowning at the stubble that was already sprouting in the region. He was already late; he could take his time shaving. At the boy's question, he was partially tempted to keep Anduin in the dark; he really wanted his child to have no further dealings with Sylvanas, even in the aftermath of the Blight. But he'd made a promise to him the night prior and he'd set no good example by breaking it. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up, he stretched his muscles and limbs and eyed the teen over quietly.

The prince had grown so much since boyhood, emerging into adolescence with the same unjaded perspective he had as a young child. And yet, fate was fickle. The same unjadedness Varian used to pine and hope the boy would maintain served Anduin in the worst of ways. He clung to it and sped off away from his guards, seeing only as far as his benevolent intentions guided him. But even the best of intentions had poor outcomes. Garrosh's trial was evidence enough of that. Anduin was a pivotal pawn in that trial, having been one of the only victims alive and able to give his voice to how he'd like to see his attacker dealt with. Tyrande had been expecting the boy who had every single bone in his body shattered to want to exact a similar pain on the Mag'har. Her rage had been poorly concealed when the priest was near opposite of her assumptions, claiming to not only want to see Garrosh live but be changed.

People like Garrosh couldn't change. They were, strangely enough, as naive as the prince, though naive through their own choosing. They shrouded and blinded themselves with their faith and decrees, feeling that no other way was right if it wasn't their own. Someday Anduin would be forced to change and see the world for the darkness that it was.

Varian shoved the thoughts from his mind and made a line for the bathroom. "The meeting went longer than I'd hoped but the resolution is… well, it's not what I originally wanted but the outcome is profitable for the Alliance and us."

The teen lifted his brows. "'Us'?"

"Sylvanas has to pay our House directly as a personal retribution to what was done to you. I'm sure the Nobles will try to take portions of it, coming up with some ridiculous reasoning that you're an entity of the State and so they're entitled to it." Varian lingered in the bathroom's doorway, running his gaze over the boy watching him, clearly waiting for more information. Apparently his curiosity wasn't sated enough. "As for the Alliance, I'll be sending recon to periodically run inspections on her apothecaries for three months. The Blight won't be incubated. I'll personally stage an assault on the Undercity if it means stopping another Lich."

"I'm surprised Vol'jin was agreeable to that." The prince tilted his head and hummed thoughtfully to himself. "I would've liked to see the negotiation process, though. Especially if you were able to get the Warchief and Sylvanas to agree to that."

The King mindfully didn't mention he'd been wanting to walk away with a claim to Sylvanas's life. But it was too early in the day for one of Anduin's self-righteous lectures that greatly exceeded his years. "There'll be other opportunities for you to learn from. Ones that aren't so... difficult."

"When I'm king I won't be able to pick and choose, difficult or not."

Varian sighed. "Is this how we're going to start the day, Anduin?"

The bright blue eyes broke from the stormy ones as the priest lowered his gaze submissively to the floor. But Varian wasn't so easily disillusioned. Had Anduin not been recovering, he had no doubt in his mind that his very stubborn, highly spirited child would have argued his point until nightfall. He took the small victory for what it was.

"I just mean to say that I would've liked to see how you handled it. You're… not well known for your… approachableness, father," Anduin spoke slowly, handpicking his words. Leaning forward from his perched spot on the bed, the teen glanced up with a small smile that chased away any doubts Varian had over his son's brazenness. "I'm proud of you. I mean, I'm always proud of you but in this… I expected you to- you know, for you to…"

Yes, Varian did know but he didn't say it. No, he'd make the boy string together his thoughts. Placing a hand against the doorframe, continuing to linger beneath it, he looked blankly back at him.

"I… I expected you to treat it like you did the meeting in Darnassus with the Gilneans. And you didn't. You didn't lose your temper or order the advancement of units on Horde territory. You used diplomacy and stomached negotiations." The priest suddenly paled worse than he was with a worried thought. "Wait, you _did_ negotiate, right? You didn't-"

"-Yes, I negotiated. I didn't force any of it." Varian lifted a silencing hand before the boy could veer off into rampant concerned litanies. "I won't break down the minutiae of it, but the outcome was decent. We've signed and sealed it. Vol'jin seemed confident enough to not even want Sylvanas's input. When and how he chooses to tell her is his own doing." His fingers curled around the doorframe, the woods a sanded grain imported from the Kal'dorei homelands and smooth against his calloused skin. "Thrall should be arriving soon to check in on you. I'm looking forward to getting you back to the Keep and under the care of the healers there. This has all been more than I ever wanted for this summit."

Anduin blinked patiently. "Please don't use this as an excuse to shutter me in more."

"Since when do I need an excuse?"

The teen sighed theatrically back to his father's equally jesting words. "Even the High King needs to be kept in check time and again, you know. His power can't be unchallenged, especially when locking away children in towers for undetermined amounts of time."

"Your attempts of seeking leniency fall on deaf ears, son," Varian groused with a small grin, failing to hold his impassive visage in the face of their lighthearted mirth. "And I'll add that _you _are the royal needing to be kept in check. A runaway prince skirting his obligations to his kingdom is a foul one at that."

The jest drained marginally from the boy's face, making his eyes look duller. "I wasn't-" But Varian hardened his own resolve at the teen's undoubtedly argumentative tone, doing the trick to shove it back to the well of reserve it was called from. "Well, all humor aside, I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and resting there, having the familiarity of the Keep to… get better, I suppose."

Varian narrowed his gaze on the boy conspiraciously. "Willingly wanting to go home? You? Maybe you're not recovering as fast as I'd hoped." But in truth, the High King had long ago lost his appetite for the summit's purpose and Winterspring's naturally alluring snowscape. He also hungered for the familiarity of his map room and home. And the peace of mind that his son was far, far away from the Horde that nearly took his life. It'd take him some time to agree to bring the prince on another royal appointment beyond their kingdom. "I'll ask Thrall again if you're fit for travel. I can finish the meetings up sooner than originally planned, or leave the drafting to them."

As expected, as if on clockwork, Anduin sharply shook his head. "Only after that ride through Winterspring you promised. And if you're still wanting of it, the spar. Seriously, father, cabin fever is about to become more of a threat to me than recovering from the Blight."

As much as Varian wanted to see his son's affinity and strength in shadow, he had to quiet his own selfish desires for the boy's welfare. Maybe before Pandaria and the priest's strong armed insistence of seeking tutelage under Velen, leaving his father and people for his craft, the High King would've forced the issue. But after his son's so many close calls that flirted with death, what was truly important became shoved into perspective for him.

Even as he looked at Anduin, his paternal instincts immediately finding all of the physical attributes the boy inherited from him, he felt he was looking at the impossible. It was only days ago that he wrestled with the possibility of his death from disease, and several months ago by Garrosh's hand. Varian had suffered the worst of battle wounds either through campaigns or his time of enslavement in the ring, collected an impressive canvas of scars, but the real torture came from imagining burying his child. It was a nightmare no parent should have to live through.

Anduin was his world, and he'd almost been taken from him.

"The spar can wait till we get home," the older Wrynn quietly mumbled as he took in the half-mooned dark circles under the prince's eyes. "As for the ride… _only_ if you're feeling up to it. I know Thrall suggested it for your recovery but to hell with him if you're not feeling strong enough to face the cold. There's always just going to dinner if you really need to walk around."

"So… the ride and the dinner?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

Anduin looked hopeful. "Are you giving me a choice?"

"Absolutely not but I thought to give you the benefit of the doubt to ask." Varian fought back a smile at the despair on the boy's face. "I've already missed the breakfast sessions - the rest of the morning appointments can suffer my absence. If Thrall gives the approval, we'll take that ride this morning. There's a trail through the forests that's short but will suffice. Or..." He sighed heavily, knowing just what the adventure-craving teen would want. "An ice cave isn't far from here. I've never been but I hear the caverns are well worth the trip to explore. Something about the ice being so clear it looks like crystals."

Hope and energy were a curious thing on anyone but on his bright-eyed son, they were emotions that came almost as second nature as his benevolence and compassion. The cocktail of elations, when mixed harmoniously together, created a moving strength that almost chased away the remnants of exhaustion continuing to plague him from the Blight. The brilliance and light were ushered to Anduin's features by the preamble of his radiant smile. "I'd love that!" He exclaimed, his mind likely already imagining climbing and exploring an ice-filled cavern. "Today? We can go today?" He coughed dryly. "I mean, if Thrall agrees that I'm strong enough for it."

Varian tapped the door a few times and allowed a heavy silence torture the boy as he chewed over the situation. Instincts told him to board up the room and make his son rest until his deathday but a nagging voice in his head - maybe that was his conscience? - guided him to logic. Anduin was a teenager, nearly on the eve of being a young adult. He needed freedom to grow and become his own person, and that couldn't happen if Varian was constantly smothering him back at every turn. One day, hopefully not soon, Anduin would be forced to take the crown and couldn't spare being coddled.

That day would also mean the prince's spontaneous adventures would need to come to a halting end. He wouldn't be able to galavant about Azeroth on his whimsical desires. No, his duty would chain him.

"Yes, I'll take you today."

* * *

Lor'themar missed Silvermoon. He hated the snow. Hated the cold. And truly had no love for any Kal'dorei aesthetics. The longer the negotiation sessions went on, the more his palate craved the sweet release a bottle of Sunkissed Wine could promise. But Silvermoon was a continent away, separated by a sprawling sea and miles apart. Political dexterity was already rather limited for the Regent Lord who kept his State position very much at an arm's length. While he could be cordial, emotionally detached, and pragmatic in the sessions, his tolerance for them was becoming expired.

Hearing Sylvanas and Vol'jin argue for the past hour over the conflict regarding Wrynn's boy wasn't making it any easier for the Sin'dorei.

"We can always excuse ourselves, Lor'themar. There's better ways to spend our time than listening to her hysterics."

The Regent-Lord smiled thinly at the Thalassian whispered words. Seated beside him in the conference room dedicated to a small group of Horde leaders was Hauldron Brightwing, his closest friend and most trusted advisor. He could at least take heart that he wasn't forced to suffer being an observer of the argument alone.

When Vol'jin had called the Horde meeting after the breakfast session - which Lor'themar noted Wrynn was curiously absent from - he could feel something was wrong. In truth, he was impressed the High King had made an applauding effort to go to all of the meetings even with his son's life lingering in limbo. Had it been him, had the fruit of his loins been recovering from near death, he'd had already called the meetings off and attended to his child.

Then again, humans were very fickle when it came to their offspring. Much more than Sin'dorei. Maybe it was a result of their short lifespans and childhood, and their penchant for reproducing at speed rivaling rabbits. The life of a child was beyond priceless to the Elves, who spend majority of their existence in adulthood in a protracted lifespan. Seeing a child was a rare gift that'd end as their childhood did.

"I am _not_ paying that foolish buffoon _any_ gold from my city, Vol'jin! I won't pay for your failure to stand up to Wrynn's argument."

"Yuh bi payin' for attacking at uh peace summit. And a boy at dat. Dat's an orduh."

Lor'themar fought back an undignified sigh. The troll and Forsaken had been arguing in circles around each other for the last hour, talking past one another, refusing to see reason. Though sound reason dictated that Syvlanas kneel and heed the Warchief's order. But a streak of Sin'dorei pride and stubbornness that didn't die with the rest of her body kept her arguing. Had it been him - which it wouldn't because he would never make allowance for the attack on a child, even the son of a king - he'd have counted his blessings and simply paid the monetary punishment. Really, considering Wrynn's legendary anger that once drove him to assault his own allied faction's city, Ironforge, to pluck his son from a kidnapping attempt, they were lucky the High King didn't declare war on them. The Horde was still weak and recovering from Garrosh's tyranny; another war on their lands would be devastating.

"And if I don't?"

The Regent-Lord looked curiously at Vol'jin, interested in the answer.

"Den de Horde will have tuh pay and di Forsaken will have tuh make up di cost by nuh gettin' all di aid for reconstruction." The troll's voice took on a hard edge, his patience clearly finding its limit. "And duh think dat you're avoiding di inspections. Even if Wrynn duh destroy di blight, di Horde will. Wi nuh be allowin' dat anymore."

Lor'themar knew Sylvanas through different periods of her life and death, had watched her transform from the honored ranger she once was in Quel'thalas to the cursed _thing_ she became. And he knew her well enough to know that the narrowing of her crimson eyes and tensing of her jaw were telltale signs of her anger bordering on menacial.

"_Fine_," her tense words were barely audible. "And here I thought the Horde was being handed off to a _strong_ warchief. From a tyrant to a weakling that bows to _Wrynn_."

The room was silent as the Banshee whipped around and stomped soundlessly from the room, putting her back on the Horde and leaving her words to whip them cruelly.

"I'd say that went well," Brightwing shattered the silence once her figure disappeared from view and the door slammed shut behind her.

Shoving himself to his feet, Lor'themar stretched his limbs that were becoming cramped from sitting for too long. The entire week was feeling too long. What was meant to be a mere summit to discuss war reparations had quickly become a headache inducing catastrophe. And all because the Forsaken queen couldn't hold back temptations to…

Lor'themar paused. To what? She'd been wanting to not only kill Wrynn's child but turn him to one of her own. A sickened, hollow feeling carved itself in the Regent-Lord's belly at the memories of the Scourge marching through their streets, ripping children and adults apart, stealing their youth before they had a chance to live. Some of them had been raised, though they amounted to little in the Lich army. Merely children, they served better as ghouls and cannon fodder than someone trained.

Still, it was an ache that Lor'themar didn't want to revisit, a slander on what was natural. It was true that he once owed Sylvanas some loyalty when she arranged their aid in the wake of the Sunwell's destruction, but that loyalty had long ago been repaid. Now he could pass judgment on her nightmarish amalgamations and ambitions with a clear conscience. As much as he detested Jaina for her interrupting his and Wrynn's meeting to rejoin the Alliance, he'd be hardpressed to remain in the Horde much longer if the High King did choose to push war on them because of his son. The Sin'dorei's ties to the Horde were, even then, tenuous at best.

"I'm not sure if I'm surprised or impressed by your agreeing to Wrynn's inspections on her apothecaries, Warchief," Lor'themar began in a measured tone as he eyed Baine's concerned gaze staring unfocused at the door. The Tauren had been silent throughout the entire meeting, though his disappointment and disapproval had grown steadier the more the argument progressed. "Though I commend your negotiation efforts to avoid further conflict. We can't afford a war, either through resources or martial strength."

Vol'jin merely nodded at the compliment. "How bi di boy?"

The Sin'dorei shrugged indifferently. "I haven't seen him since I first offered the antidote, but from what Thrall has been gracious enough to pass on, the boy is strong and on his way to becoming healthy again. I have no doubt in my mind Wrynn would've sent him back to Stormwind had he been able, so I presume he's still on the mend." Arching a brow over his eyepatch, he nodded towards the door at no one is particular. "Do you trust she's let go of the issue?"

It was Baine that responded, his stare unmoving from the door. "Do you?"

"Not for second," Lor'themar replied lightly in his trademark cursory tone. "I suggest you assign your own retinue of inspections to keep a close eye on her. Perhaps even for the remainder of the summit."

Vol'jin nodded slowly. "Uh will. But if she bi plannin' on doing someting, uh dun think Wrynn would bi lenient anymore."

That went without saying. It was surprising the High King with a fractured personality, one part gladiator and the other a monarch, didn't declare war on them already. Lor'themar shared a grim look with Brightwing. "Then neither will we."


	10. Chapter 10

No matter how much Anduin took in Wintersprings snowy landscape, he couldn't believe just how much snow there was. The name was deceiving; there was no 'spring' to be found in the omnipresent wintery bliss, where the winds carried armies of snowflakes and a chill clutched the air around him. It was so different from Stormwind and the lands within their kingdom, where he'd still get a small tasting of the four seasons. Elwynn would occasionally get sprinkles of snow but nothing nearly as torrential as the neverending sea of pearl fluff that surrounded him like an ocean.

After being seen by Thrall that morning and given the seal of approval by the Shaman to venture beyond the lodge, Anduin had wasted no time in throwing his pajamas off and getting into his winter attire. Thick leather riding boots, heavy frostweave pants and jacket, and a fur-lined cloak put up a formidable battle against the cold elements, but not nearly enough to convince the High King that he wasn't about to die any second. They'd only left the lodge minutes ago on borrowed sabers and his father was still throwing weary looks his way. Everytime a particularly strong wind would blast into the father-son duo, the High King's scowling frown made its way towards the prince, as if expecting the gust to have claws that could claim his life.

But Anduin let it be for once. He didn't let it bother him or ruin the ride. The fresh air was divine after being holed up in the lodge for so long. And only seeing sprawling mountains in the distance beneath a lavender-kissed sky instead of being boxed in by walls made him ignore the protective looks from his sire.

One thing did concern the prince, however. "I'm surprised you dismissed the guards today," Anduin mused as he readjusted himself in the saddle. Sabers weren't like horses; he was essentially riding a large cat with teeth the length of his neck and as sharp as the sword slung on his father's back. They lacked the narrow, slender body of Stormwindian horses, making the priest have to awkwardly sit on a saddle too large for him to find comfort. He quickly tacked on: "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

"The caverns aren't far from here." Varian's brow arched up. "It'd been some time since we've taken a proper ride just us. I thought you'd appreciate the solitude."

Anduin cracked a small smile. It was true. While they'd ride for state visits and transport, they were typically surrounded by a small army to ensure the royals safety. His father was so quick to assign a hefty patrol to shadow him in the past that he expected nothing less in the wake of his near death when he'd been alone. But after living without guards in Pandaria for months, he found them especially bothersome. Freedom was walking and going where he wanted, tasting the fresh air and drinking from nature's basin at his will. It was enjoying life unadulterated and untouched at the whims of no one but himself. Even when he was sleeping on the floor of an inn, or suffering the nonstop rainstorms of Kasarang, he relished his liberty.

In Stormwind, he was a caged animal.

"I can't remember the last time we had a ride," he thought aloud as his saber pawed through a snow bank like it was nothing. The foothills of the mountains were fast approaching. "Must've been…"

"Before you left for the Exodar."

Two years ago. It was over two years ago.

The events surrounding the prince's departure for training under the Prophet was a dreary spot on their history, despite how the milestone solidified his discipline in priesthood. It was the deepening of the chasm between father and son, and the attack on Remembrance Day was the bridge that rectified their relationship. After his sprinting through Pandaria and recovering from his injuries by Garrosh, their relationship had taken an even stronger, albeit strange, turn. Where Lo'Gosh's anger was quieted, Varian's paternal side emerged with a stronger voice. As dismal as Garrosh's trial was, Anduin wouldn't forget the king's closeness during it, how he worried as a father would without the clashing of his anger.

And it seemed in the wake of his brush with the Blight, his father smothered his anger in exchange for embracing the attitude of a parent.

"It's nice." Anduin was met with a questioning look from the High King. "This ride, I mean. And I'm not just saying that because I've been sick and stuck in the lodge for so long. Even if I wasn't, I'd still like…" His mouth went dry as he neared a sensitive topic that he avoided for years. Quickly, he dodged his father's stare that was still focused on him while their sabers strolled forward in tandem. "We should do this more often. We used to do that… um… the archery lessons together. And then that stopped when… well, you got busier and I understand that your obligation to the state comes first before… well, before joy rides with me."

_Before me_.

Varian shook his head sharply and readjusted his grip on the leather reins. They were thicker than the ones he'd use in Stormwind on his horse, but they needed to be for the immense sabers. "Matters with the kingdom and Alliance took up more of my time." The King frowned. "Onyxia happened, then Outland, Arthas…"

"I know, father. I'm not trying to… I was just… I meant to say that we should… try to do this more often. Again. Make an effort. Again."

A heavy silence blanketed the two royals, though Anduin wasn't sure if it was comfortable or not. Internally, he kicked and cursed at himself for rotting the moment with bringing up the turmoiled past. The trail they were following took a sharp pitch downwards, the saber easily traversing the steep terrains decline as they approached the mountain's foothills. While there were mountains circling Stormwind, they more resembled the humps of an Uldum camel instead of the jagged peaks sprouting from Winterspring's snow. These loomed overhead like intimidating pillars of rock, ice, and snow.

Anduin was tempted to pull the fur-lined hood up as a chill started to set in. But he knew the action would draw concern from his father, perhaps even make him abandon the field trip before they actually saw the ice caverns. "Have you ever been to Dawn's Blossom in the Jade Forest?"

The High King glanced curiously at the boy. "In Pandaria? No. Well, that's not entirely true. I have but not for long. I had a route that took me through it when reinforcing our settlement in the region, but I didn't stay long." With all that had happened during the campaign in Pandaria and the siege of Orgrimmar after, Varian hadn't asked much of the prince's adventures on the new island. He tilted his head to the side, looking at the blonde over in muted curiosity. "Is that one of the places you went to?"

"Only for a few days, though I wanted to stay longer. There's a noodle cart there, though. One of the best in all of Pandaria. I… was thinking maybe for my sixteenth birthday that's coming up we could go there for dinner. I… I would kind of prefer if there weren't any guards, like now, just have it be us, but if you really want them, I suppose I can understand." Anduin clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips together to stop the blundering free-flow of awkward words. How was it he could address a room full of Azeroth's elites during a trial without nerves but he couldn't ask for mere bonding time with his father without stumbling over himself?

The yawning mouth of the cavern greeted the father and son in the distance, welcoming them with a surprising amount of glittering brilliance as the sun reflected off the ice creating impressive sculptures at the entrance. Either arrested by the peculiar beauty or opting for silence at his son's awkwardness, Varian eyed the quickly approaching caverns for a few seconds before he surprised the boy with a baritone chuckle. "So for your birthday, you're asking to have noodles from what I'm guessing is just an outdoor cart and gain my permission to be without a guard detail? If the lack of defense won't kill you, will the questionable caliber of food?"

Surprised at his father's levity, having assumed the worst with the subject, Anduin blinked a few times. "Erm… no! It's good! Chin's the master of noodles there and he's got the best egg noodles in all of Pandaria! Just… don't ask him about the recipe. It's the longest conversation you'll ever have in your life."

"You want to have noodles from someone named _Chin_? Not forehead or nose?"

"Are you trying to make a bad pun or make fun of someone's name?"

"Why must I choose?" An amused grin, faint but decidingly there, lingered on the older man's face. "But I had better plans for your sixteenth birthday." Seeing the boy's frown in the corner of his gaze, Varian continued. "Though I haven't been to Pandaria since Garrosh's trial and I suppose I could do for a short tour of our settlements there. I think I can make time for a brief lunch in the Jade Forest with you, though _after_ this summit is dealt with and you've made a full recovery. And I mean it, Anduin."

Whatever argument might've sprouted from the spirited prince were silenced at the allowance of a noodle-filled afternoon with his father. All of the days that turned to weeks that turned to months in Pandaria were, for the most part, on his own or with others he met along the way. The few times he was with his father were snippets at Lion's Landing, which generally consisted of the monarch juggling his kingly responsibilities while trying to keep the prince in check. That didn't last very long. Once Anduin caught wind of the tribulations gripping the zenful lands, he dashed off straight into trouble's maw. Which just happened to be in the shape of a bell and very angry Mag'har.

"You won't regret it! I promise, father. These will be the best noodles you've ever had." The sabers seemed to register the mouth of the cavern, for they instinctively slowed their pace, either wary or cautious of the uneven ground beneath their paws. The entrance was large and imposing, but with an inviting sort of ambiance to it. Rows upon rows of craggy ice protrusions created a jaw full of sharpened teeth, though the bottom half were cracked from others having traveled in and out of the caverns and created a makeshift path. The upper half, however, was still filled with ice sculptures so sharp and huge Anduin was positive they were larger than him. If they were caught under one of the extrusions when they happened to fall, a grave injury or death would result.

But the priest wasn't bothered by the danger. No, he was arrested by the shimmering kaleidoscope of lustrous whites and incandescent blues glowing from the ice formations. A natural spectacle shaped by Azeroth's paintbrush, they captured the definition of simplistic beauty, and yet at the same time, there was nothing simplistic about them. Each rivet of water froze as if by design, creating a rippling effect.

Mirroring his father to pull his saber to a stop, the prince swung his leg out of the saddle and hopped off, his boots softly crunching the snow and icy ground. "Wow, this is… have you ever seen anything like this before? Look at the colors! It's so blue and bright!"

"Not for a long time." As if feeling the curious look from the boy without actually seeing it, the High King offered explanation, his voice clouded with distant memories. "When I was around your age and living in Lordaeron, I'd take short visits to the Alterac Mountains. There was a narrow passe there that Arthas was fond of. In the summer months, the snow in the valley would melt and create rapids, and then refreeze in the caves when the winters would come around."

Anduin wasn't sure what was harder; trying to imagine his father as an adventurous youth, or the dethroned Lich King unmaddened by his vile power. He was told many times the story of how he, as an infant, wrapped his hand around the paladin's finger. And he'd occasionally heard his father speak warmly of his boyhood in the neighboring kingdom. But the topic was always delicate and fragile. Varian and Arthas were thick as thieves with a good-natured rivalry, the sons of Kings who were finally able to connect with another of similar plight in life.

"Really? I'd like to see that some day," Anduin dropped the reins to the saber, knowing the trained animal would remain where left, and carefully approached the mouth of the cavern. It was tall though only wide enough for two men to walk through shoulder to shoulder. He ran a gloved finger over an iridescent icy tooth, feeling the chill through the burnished leather. "Do you miss him?"

Silence prevailed for a few seconds before the prince heard his father's heavy boots crunch the snow behind him. "I miss who he was. The friend I knew died with Stratholme. If I grieve anything, it's not the _thing_ we killed in the citadel. But rather my inability to have stopped it from happening."

The interior of the cavern opened up into a narrowed foyer that Anduin wordlessly welcomed himself into. As expected, his father was shortly behind him. It was strange how the intensity of the conversation was diluted by the cavern's grace and beauty, the glimmering hues providing a perfect distraction when neither knew what to say. It filled in the gap where awkwardness would've prevailed.

The deeper Anduin trekked in the cavern, the colder it got. The light was deceiving and created trickery on him. While the daylight from the cavern's mouth grew more distant, the clear ice still welcomed a surprising amount of illumination into the cave. Where the prince would've taken the increase of darkness in a normal cave as a signal to curb his curiosity and turn back, he was robbed of it here. Instead he walked onwards, not noticing how deep and inwards he went.

And very faintly ahead, he'd swear he saw another source of natural light reflecting off the frozen water around them.

Approaching a wall covered in immaculately clear water frozen in the shape of a vertical, rippling pond, Anduin took a labored breath. His still recovering lungs pained at the cold air. Much colder than outside the cavern. "I wanted Wrathion to be different. And I saw the way you and Aunt Jaina looked at him, judging him before you even met him. Just because of his heritage." He shook his head slowly, feeling his father's gaze boring into him. But he couldn't turn to meet it yet. "I thought about all the stories you told me of you and Arthas growing up together as friends. Being close. I thought Wrathion and I had that. Maybe even…."

His throat seized up, stopping his words before he could say too much. But to his surprise, a soft voice responded.

"I know."

The air felt heavy and yet so clear at the same time, despite how the chill pained the prince with every breath. The truth was right there, finally out in the open, leaving him vulnerable over a topic that he'd kept tucked close to his wounded heart for so long. But it was more than just who he sought to keep company with as more than a friend. It was an unearthing of his wants and desires, an unveiling to a personal slice of his life he kept hidden from his father for so long.

But those two words from his father - _I know_ \- said so much in such little breath. Those two words answered all the worries and concerns Anduin had and left him breathless as he turned to regard the High King with an astonished look.

Standing in the middle of the ice-filled chamber with a haven of snowflakes covering his chestnut hair and broad pauldrons, Varian looked much calmer than the prince could ever remember. His features, fractured by scars and yet still roguishly handsome, were void of the anger that Anduin assumed he'd have. "I know," he repeated in a low baritone. "I've _known_ for some time now, and saw how you were at the trial and the weeks after. For years, since your birth, I've been approached by nobles inquiring on your betrothal. Some have been bold enough to extend offers."

"You turned them away? I… I mean, I always expected you to eventually… to arrange something for me."

Varian sharply shook his head. "It's another fine example of my failings as a father." The prince looked at him in confusion. "When your mother was with child, we both agreed that we wouldn't have you arranged to take a consort without there being affection or love involved. At the very least, I wanted to… I wanted to know your… preferences." The calmness was suddenly chased away with a flood of awkwardness so strong it made the proud king look to the side. "When you were a child, I couldn't look at you without seeing your mother and hating myself for the sadness I felt. After Onyxia and… Lo'Gosh came, I only saw how vulnerable you were when I looked at you. And then when you entered your teen years, we couldn't have a conversation without bickering. I realized that I… I didn't know what you liked, even when it came to more… personal things."

At his father's pause, Anduin stayed silent, not sure if he was meant to say something and not sure what he would say if he was. Thankfully, Varian just used the moment to gather his thoughts and laughed ruefully before continuing. "When you returned from the Exodar, I then tried to pay attention to you in… _that_ realm of things. But when meeting with ladies of the court or nobleman's daughters, you showed nothing. You were cordial and as polite as any prince should be but not interested. I almost accused Velen of convincing you to take some kind of priestly vows or having you become ordained, but I noticed something else. It wasn't that you weren't interested - I was just looking at the wrong time and place."

Anduin didn't realize he was breathing so hard until he noticed the small fog in front of his face, his breath captured in the cold air. The ice around them insulated no heat and offered them no comfort in the wintery bliss, but the conversation was one that distracted the boy from the ache in his chest. "You're not mad?"

The High King snapped his eyes back to his son's. "No, Anduin. I'm not mad. I would never be- Light, all that me and your mother ever wanted for you when it came to your eventual marriage was happiness. Taking a consort means so much more than just producing heirs for a kingdom. Surrogate inheritance has been arranged in our line before. But what's important to me is that you're happy." He ran a heavy hand over the nape of his neck. "I didn't want to have this conversation here, of all places. You're nearing sixteen years, I'm guessing you already know about the birds and the bees or should I cover that ground too while at it?"

It was a crude joke, but one that was needed. It shattered the tension and made the prince choke out a half laugh. "You're about six years too late on that."

"Bolvar?"

"Muradin."

Varian made a face. "I can only imagine the lack of dignity that came from that conversation. My apologies then for abandoning you to it." Turning to stare at the cave wall covered in rippling frozen water, the elder Wrynn was quiet for a spell, though his face told a lengthy story of his inner conflict. "But… I…" He stopped short and looked like he made an effort to start up again, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out until… "I know what it's like to have a… wanting of someone and not have those feelings returned or know that you can't be with them. It's a pain that every boy your age needs to … go… through…" Light, why was this so hard? He also mindfully left out that never in this life or the next would he ever approve of someone like the Black Prince. "Adoration for another is a confusing thing. And you're… you're at a difficult time in your life right now where-where you're probably…"

It was the vague hand gestures in the air, as if the High King were grasping for words that wouldn't come, that made the prince finally put the subject out of its misery.

"Father," the teen's face looked one part sympathetic and two parts embarrassed for his sire. "I understand what you're saying and… and you don't have to worry." He gave a forceful shrug of his shoulder. "I'm over it. That… Him.. All of that."

But Varian saw the lie for what it was, hidden behind the boy's broken smile. "No, you're not," he gently countered, the truth in his words making the teen look down. "But you will be. That trial has left me with a plethora of regrets. Don't let yourself get jaded like I am from it." He grinned good-naturedly, turning to inspect a particularly sharp icicle hanging dramatically from the ceiling. "Give me war campaigns and command councils, but conversations like these are…." He didn't have to finish the sentence for the two of them to know it was a shared pain. He looked over at the boy to read his reaction to his next words. "Now that I have a better idea of your preferences, would you like me to arrange a betrothal?"

Maybe if Anduin was someone else, was born to a man of any other rank below King, he'd find the question blunted and cold. But he didn't. For years, he knew his eventual marriage would be one of Stormwind's greatest political leverages and had long ago gone to bed with the idea of an arranged union. But that didn't stop him from pouring his heart into romance novels he quietly read in his room's secret recluse, cheering for something that he would never have. "I… I want to marry for love and not-not because of duty," he quietly replied, somehow finding the courage to keep his eyes locked on the High King. "But I also know that you and mother are living testaments that a betrothal can lead to love. So I guess I… I'm not against it but I'm… I'm not ready."

"Well, I don't intend on throwing you into a union in the next moon," Varian couldn't help but chuckle at his son's blubbering, clearly as quaky on the subject as he was. "But I'll preface that I have been keeping avenues and networks open to allow opportunities to present themselves."

Anduin blinked. "And which avenues would those be?"

A plated glove swept the concerned question away. "Wyrmbane's son has recently become a commissioned officer, as you well know." Anduin did know; he'd been dutifully present as Crown Prince during the military convocation when the honored Commander's son received his medals. Was that when his father had taken notice to his shamelessly seeking out the newly minted Lieutenant to chat? "Their family has served the Alliance honorably for decades. I'd take no greater pleasure granting Halford a seat in the House. His military-mind speaks louder to me than the bickering Nobles." As if realizing for the first time how far into the tunnels they'd managed to wander, Varian looked over his shoulder towards the mouth of the cave that was no longer in sight. "I've also been in talks with Erlgadin and having their House's seat reclaimed. Your mother was especially close with the Countess, and their family has always been far too generous than the rest of the hens that call themselves nobles. It'd do Stormwind well to have them back in a position of power."

That name got a reaction from the teen.

With as cold as the cavern was, Anduin hoped the flush on his cheeks wouldn't amount to much. But the heat was there and telling. And if not the scarlet hue, then the way he quickly looked away from his father said enough. "Erlgadin?" His voice cracked on the word, making the flush deepen. "I… I thought his son was still on expedition in Stranglethorn. I… I read his latest submission to the Royal Society of Natural Science on the migratory habits of the tigers in Stranglethorn. Errr… I mean to say, I… I _heard_ he submitted something. An article. I didn't read it. Because why would I read something like that?"

Varian just stared for a few seconds. "Right. Well, as I said, nothing is happening until you're at least of age but now that we've suffered this conversation together I have a better idea of what you're…" he took in the still flushed cheeks and awkward boy, "interested in."

Maybe it was the cold beginning to take its toll but the teen didn't voice opposition to the concept of being betrothed, or his father's suggesting to begin the process. And it surprised even Anduin as he turned from his father to inspect an icy wall, trying to shield the way his lips had to part to take in haggard gulps of air. Each breath and sigh felt more and more labored than the last, as if a heavy boulder was taunting him as it rested on his chest.

There was no argument, though, and that much Anduin was thankful for. Perhaps in the past, before they both went through the treacherous trials and tribulations together that rocked and molded their relationship into what it became, they'd scream so hard the ice would melt from their heated anger. But it didn't happen. And though he didn't voice any disapproval for his father's potential suitors picked out for him, or the process of being arranged, the boy somehow had an idea that even if he did, it wouldn't have started an argument. No, they had trekked through one heartfelt topic to the next, broken down superficial barriers that guarded sensitive subjects, and bare naked thoughts and secrets to one another all with raw, vulnerable emotions.

The priest felt a flood of pride and adoration swell in his chest towards his warrior, battle-hardened father. For that's what he was in the moment; not a regal King addressing his prince, not a Commander ordering his lieutenants, but a father talking to his son.

"You look tired." Anduin glanced over towards his father at the blunted observation, though he was already expectant of the next words that came. "We should be heading back. It's probably well after lunch now and you should be resting. The sooner you get better and back to Stormwind, the better."

The ice caverns were beautiful and the fresh air was beyond welcomed to the prince, but he lacked the strength to beg for more time outside of his dungeon at the lodge. As much as he wanted to enjoy exploring Winterspring and let his adventurous spirit soar, he couldn't ignore the pain in his chest and the struggle to breathe. "Yes, I think resting is a good idea," he mumbled with a half-hearted smile at the High King. "And no, before you ask, I'm not dying. It's just… the cold air is a little difficult for me."

A pang of worry crossed Varian's face as he took in the boy's alabaster hue and glassy, feverish eyes that made the natural blue more brilliant and bright. After nodding slowly and gesturing him to follow, the two began the trek back through the winding cavern's tunnels. The colors in the ice continued to entice them with their alluring lullabies, the same ones that deceived them into traveling too deep into the belly of the mountain.

So far in, they'd lost sight of the cavern's entrance, and wouldn't know that their sabers were no longer there.

A sudden rumble quaked through the cavern, so ferocious and frantic it threw them both off their feet, Varian barely had enough time to reach instinctively for the teen, yanking him in close as their world tossed and turned from the earthquake. The teen scrambled for purchase on the slippery cavern floor as thunderous rocks roared around them. But it was the echoing crack that made him freeze momentarily, curious for a second on what made the sound, before his heart plummeted into his stomach at the realization.

"The cavern is caving in!"

His father's words somehow rang louder than the shattering ice that began to fall around them, and were accompanied by a pair of strong hands grabbing him around the biceps and pulling him upwards. Splinters of ice rained down from the ceiling in a deadly shower, turning what was once an enchanted beauty into a dungeon of nightmares. Despite how much his chest and lungs ached, the teen forced himself to keep up with his father as he was nearly dragged through the collapsing cavern, feeling splinters of sharp ice cutting against his cheek and tearing into his clothes.

Somewhere along the rancorous din exploding around him, the teen heard his father grunt as plate snarled and buckled under the weight of falling ice. And while the healer in him wanted to check on the King and the potential wound that resulted, a more pressing concern reared its ugly head.

"Where's-where's the entrance?!" Anduin sputtered as he stared at the wall of crumbled ice, rock, and snow that wasn't there before.

The High King let out a colorful string of curses under his breath. Though with Anduin tucked close against him, the teen heard each one. "Caved in. Shit…" Looking around frantically for an exit that didn't exist, the king's battle-trained mind shifted into survival mode, dissecting the graveness of the situation and weighing their limited options. But it was different than a battle. While Varian might've thrown caution to the wind and tore Shalamayne from his back to chisel into the ice in hopes of _making_ his own exit, he couldn't afford such a cavalier, daring action. He might've done that if he were alone. But he wasn't. And the smaller figure clutched close to him was worth more than the world.

But the smaller figure wasn't helpless, not even in the wake of becoming intimate with the Blight and his untimely brush with death.

"Get in close!" Anduin's loud voice that managed to reach above the sound of the ice crumbling around them surprised even him. Feeling the strong hand grip his shoulder tighter and his body pressed against his father's cold plated chest piece, the priest closed his eyes and reached into his piddling reserve of energy that wasn't nearly restored since he took ill. And while he felt his father's frantic, inquisitive stare bore down on him, he had to ignore it. He had to ignore everything around him; the pain gripping his lungs and the air that refused to fill them, the collapsing ice and rock that stormed down on their fragile bodies, the chill that wrapped around their bodies. It was all distractions from what he needed to do, what his mind needed to fully devote itself too. Survival wasn't just about slashing a sword mindlessly into a wall. It was about faith and fortitude.

The warmth of the Light flooded him within seconds with such intensity it almost made the teen fall over. For a few seconds, unharnessed and raw, the power was enough to chase away the chills and heat his body up. But the energy was needed elsewhere if they wanted to avoid making the collapsing cavern their icy tomb. Molding the Light was probably the hardest part for Anduin to learn during his tutelage under Velen. Believing unconditionally in the Light was easy and second nature, but once his body became a conduit for the energy, it took mental tenacity to grip it and shape it into what he needed. Typically it was funneled into prayers that mended shattered bones and healed burned flesh, but not this time. At least, not yet.

Focusing on the air around them, Anduin knew the spell worked by his father's surprised gasp. But with his eyes closed, his brow creased with concentration, the prince would never see the shimmering, gilted bulwark of Light that encased their bodies protectively. And embraced in the vigilant armor that was near soundproof from the outside world, neither would hear the horrible crunching of rock and ice falling around them. His energy was dwindling fast, but imbued with fierce determination, the priest didn't falter. He'd never see the explosion of golden radiance burst out and melt the ice shards after it shattered on impact with the shield, its impervious strength a testament to his faith.

And he'd never see the look of pure pride from his father as he looked down at him in awe of his strength.

The weakness was closing in fast on the teen, clawing at his mind and threatening to bring his efforts to an end. He nearly succumbed to it at least a dozen times, the mere act of standing feeling like a monumental task let alone keeping up the shield for the two of them. Time became circular; he didn't know how many seconds or minutes or hours past, it all felt agonizing to him. But eventually after some time had passed, the hand on his shoulder shifted some to grip him more purposefully and gave a hard, attention-seeking shake.

"...Anduin! Anduin!"

The King's voice sounded so very far away, and yet Anduin knew he was right next to him. Opening his eyes only to slam them shut again as the world tilted and whirled, he groaned at the vertigo. But he wouldn't drop the shield.

"Anduin! You can stop. The cave… the collapsing is over, I think."

Was it? How much time had passed? The priest didn't know. And he wouldn't know for a while. For when he opened his eyes again and reluctantly stopped the flow of Light through his body, whatever surge of energy he had keeping him upright stopped as well. He only had a second to glance around the cavern's chaotic chamber, taking in the field of shattered rocks and ice that nearly entombed them, before the darkness crashed over him like a tidal wave. The last thing he felt were two strong hands grab his shoulders before his world went black.

* * *

"The cave has dropped, my lady."

Sylvanas lowered her bow, but didn't place it on her back yet. Sanguine, shrewd eyes stared down at the toppled mountain and ice that created a new wall where the cavern's entrance used to lie. The same entrance she watched the Wrynns walk through, unknowing of their watchful predator. But like all of her prey, they fell victim to her conniving scheme, too prideful or stupid to think themselves untouchable. Maybe she'd been giving the High King too much credit. Maybe he was as naive as his young son.

Not that it mattered anymore.

"Fully?"

Her Dark Ranger paused, and Sylvanas didn't have to sacrifice her view of the Wrynns mausoleum to know the Undead disliked being second guessed. Velonara was never one for patience. Then again, she never did like being in the Banshee's service in the first place.

"As much as we can tell. Though the sabers are nowhere to be seen. Either they perished in the collapse or fled."

But she was one of Quel'thalas's best rangers. Sylvanas hadn't hesitated in deciding to raise her with the intention of having her join her elite archers to exact hatred and despair on their enemies. And clearly she'd made a good choice, even if it was a choice Velonara hated her for. Hatred was as potent as love, perhaps arguably even stronger, and a perfect flint to create a firestorm.

Raising her chin up triumphantly, Sylvanas allowed the twitching in the corners of her cheeks to fully blossom into a satisfied grin. Velonara could hate her. She could curse the earth she walked on for making her forever live a tormented existence. But she would do it all while in service to her. And so would everyone else when she claimed their lives and rose them as one of her own.

"Wait for dawn," came her icy reply slathered in contentment and achievement. In less than a day, she'll have ended the Wrynn dynasty, assassinated the High King of the Alliance, and added one of the best warriors she could hope for to her ranks. The boy was an added bonus. Father and son. "Then find and bring me their bodies."


	11. Chapter 11

There was a very good reason Quel'thalas was plunged into a constant state of alluring autumn and not allowed to be inflicted by the true temperatures and climate the northern city-nation should've been seeing: winter climates were dreadful and ugly.

Well, there was probably more to it than that but for Lor'themar Theron, he hated everything about winter, snow, and cold. Everything died when forced to endure the chilly elements. And what did manage to survive was hidden under blankets of heavy snow that was freezing to anyone who walked through it and had the habit of soaking through weak-soled boots and linen pants. Looking around Winterspring, the Regent-Lord longed to be rid of the bleak lands and the constant eyeful of snow. So much snow. Too much snow.

"We could've waited for the morning, you know. Winterspring isn't _that_ detestable. It's rather growing on me."

Lor'themar sighed at the man loyally at his side as the two of them made the trek from the lodge towards the stables. The closer they got, the louder the beasts penned up inside could be heard. "We've been gone from Silvermoon long enough, Hauldron," he glanced at his friend out of the corner of his good eye and frowned at the teasing smile on the ranger's face. "And don't think for a second that I believe this arctic hell is growing on you. Nothing is growing on you besides frostbite."

"You sure you trust Vol'jin to wrap up the reparation signings?"

"If the man isn't capable of signing his name where it ought to be, the Horde has more pressing issues than us returning to our sovereignty. And if the High King, of all parties, can decide to take the day to explore _caves _instead of overseeing the proceedings, I think our departure is hardly noteworthy," his words were as bitter as the winds howled around them, kicking up some snow and smacking it against the two Sin'dorei with jovial glee. Lor'themar frowned as he wiped the snow free from his face. "I suddenly regret being the one to suggest denying portaling to the lodge for security measures. I look forward to nothing more than getting to the Spire and escaping the mess this week has been."

The ranger's low chuckle wasn't swallowed up by the winds in time, making the Regent Lord scowl all the more. His mood was fouled by the tensions that had risen between the factions thanks to an over zealous Sylvanas who thought it intelligent to attack the High King's son. Maybe her brain did rot away when the rest of her body and flesh did and wasn't revitalized as much as it ought to have been when she was risen. Truly, there was no winning outcome from her assault on the teenager; clearly, her unsuccess resulted in a near war and had she'd achieved in killing and raising the boy, Wrynn's wrath would've decimated their still recovering faction. Her actions were hasty and stupid and driven by her own madness.

To think that she used to be a renowned ranger in their ranks, capable of shrewd calculations and sound tactics.

The two Blood Elves shoved their way into the stables and nodded at the Kal'dorei stationed to care for the sabers cloistered in their pens. With it being night already, the stablehand looked at the two Sin'dorei in surprise and paused as he was about to throw a pail of chopped up innards into one of the pens. "Departing tonight?"

Hauldron smiled tightly. "So it would seem."

"In the storm?"

Lor'themar shrugged dismissively. "The Horde outpost isn't far from here. The ride will be less than an hour, even with the winds and snow. Which of these sabers are fit for the journey?" Pulling his satchel from his side and eyeing the different sabers in the pens, Lor'themar couldn't be sure which one he'd prefer. In reality, he didn't prefer any of them. Sabers were clumsy, unwieldy creatures that lacked the grace and serenity that his hawkstrider possessed, moving with fluid strength and agility. But the thick fur on the saber was leagues better for the harsh climate than the plumage of fine feathers on his preferred mount.

The stablehand seemed to recover from his surprise at the question and rushed over to begin unpenning two particularly large beasts with sword-like fangs and a thick mane of fur. Content to not help the Kal'dorei at all, Lor'themar stood back and watched him wrangle their mounts together until that no longer held his attention. His eyes wandered around the stable, taking in its definitive Night Elven aesthetics and acrid aroma of saber excrement and stale blood from their raw diet. Yes, he hated Winterspring and wanted to leave _that_ night.

His pointed ear twitched at roaring and the sound of a scuffle on the opposite end of the stable from where they stood. Idly glancing over in the direction, Lor'themar watched silently for a few drawn out seconds as another Kal'dorei stablehand fought to calm down two weather-beaten sabers, their coats soaked to the bone in melted snow and their saddles disheveled on their backs and empty of any riders. "Well, that doesn't fill me with confidence."

The Night Elf assisting them with saddling up their sabers paused in tightening a leather strap to glance over in the direction the Regent Lord was staring. "Oh. Those two… we found them down by the foothills. Poor things must have been roaming for hours." Smirking faintly at the uneased look on the Sin'dorei's face, the stablehand returned to double checking the stays on the saddle. "Can't say whose they were. Those cats were fitted this morning." One buckle secure, he turned to the next and was rewarded with the saber yawning in his face, unimpressed with having to be sent out when it was just promised a meal. "Whoever it was probably got scared by the avalanche and left them."

Lor'themar hooked a brow up. The crawling feeling of disquiet began to grow and fester. "What avalanche?"

Patting the saber a few times after suiting him up, the Kal'dorei grabbed for another saddle hanging on a peg and began the same process on the other beast. "Down south, just near the ridgeline. Kind of strange having it happen now, during this season. Avalanches don't happen until the weather gets a little warmer and the ice starts to melt and shift."

The Regent Lord shook his head and gave an undignified snort. "Warmer? Here? I had no idea that was even a prospect. I'll have to keep that in mind when we're looking at where to hold our next war reparations council."

Hauldron at least laughed a little at the dry humor, but the sarcasm was lost on the stablehand, who was focused more on doing his job and making sure the sabers were properly dressed and saddled to comfortably survive the journey. In truth, the Night Elf probably didn't care so much about the Sin'dorei and how much comfort they had. If it were up to him, he would've tossed the Blood Elves out into the wilderness to make the trip on foot and save his wards the brunt of the elements.

The Sin'dorei favored silence and exchanging soured looks at one another as they climbed their mounts and settled into the saddles. It was bulky and awkward, the fittings poorly suited for their more lithe figure compared to their Kal'dorei cousins. Not that Lor'themar expected the stablehand to extend courtesy for their comfort. The meeting might be painted as a peace summit but it was far from forcing peace onto everyone who attended. Century old wounds still bled freely, and no amount of meetings over the course of a mere week would see them suthered completely.

The Regent Lord pulled his fur-lined hood up to cover his mane of pale hair and pointed ears and looked at the stablehand. "You said the avalanche was to the south? I'd like to avoid it or any other snow monstrosity if I can."

The teal-skinned elf shrugged indifferently and did a poor job trying at hiding his annoyance at being pressed to help the Sin'dorei beyond the basics of his duties, if he was trying to hide it at all. "That's what I said. Assuming your Undead are capable of figuring out navigations and told us the right location of it."

Hauldron beat him to it. "_What_ Undead?"

"Whoever was coming from the south ridge around the time of the avalanche," the Night Elf's clipped words were quickened with impatience. Beside him, a saber growled to let its own impatience for the innards known. Its dinnertime was being interrupted by the conversation. "They all look the same to me. If you're really curious, why don't you ask your Banshee _Queen_? They were with her. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to give you a play by play of what collapsing snow looks like."

The sardonic tone made Lor'themar hate the lodge even more, if it were possible. He wasn't one to fall victim to banter and mockery but his tolerance was already expired. "Perhaps I will." He really had no intentions on it. "Thank you for your lauding hospitality. Truly one of the Alliance's gems. I'll be sure to _specifically_ seek out your services next we visit. Perhaps we'll visit for tourism next time and see those caverns that were apparently so fetching your High King blew off our summit meetings for."

The elf snorted lowly and didn't rise to the bait. "If there's anything left of those caves after the avalanche."

Almost. Lor'themar was almost free of Winterspring, the Kal'dorei, the peace summit, the _Wrynn's_.

Seated atop the saber and about to pull the beast towards the stables entrance, the Regent Lord suddenly stopped and closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. Damn the Royals. Damn the boy. Damn Varian. How could one family - not even a full family at that - cause him so much inconvenience in the span of a week? It was almost impressive if it wasn't so annoying.

When he opened his eyes, he was met with Brightwing's knowing glance. Though a low grumble voiced his displeasure, Lor'themar reluctantly nodded back at his friend in their unspoken accord to get involved.

Jumping off his mount, the Regent Lord glanced back at the two sabers on the other end of the stables that were being dried off. "Where is Varian Wrynn?"

* * *

Each time Varian looked down at his son's unconscious face, he steeled himself for the unbearable. To eventually find the teen's pasty, sickly white hue even more ashen and ghastly as the death that stalked him eventually found its target. And when- if… _if_ that happened, the High King sincerely doubted his ability to maintain motivation to keep his own survival up. Maybe the cavern, the beautiful caves that were meant to be a day trip for him and his child, would be the last moments they'd share together. Maybe that's why the fates were kind to them, allowing the two to shed away their pride and allow them to be honest with one another.

Life was cruel. Just when he felt their relationship make leaps and bounds, their time together in the living world was being cut short. Maybe he was looking at it wrong, though. Maybe the fates knew that their demise was coming and, as a last gift, had given the father and son a moment together.

That would give the High King warm, fuzzy feelings if he believed in an orchestrated fate. But he long ago stopped holding onto childish whims. No, fate was a fallacy people clung to in times of failure and strife to give themselves excuses for what was happening. It was easier when you didn't have to own up to a bad hand of cards and could blame someone - or something - else. But Varian didn't buy into it. Fate and destiny were created by oneself, shaped by decisions the conscious mind made, and accountability could be placed nowhere else but on the person.

The Light? Elune? Ancestors? All of that was nothing compared to freewill. Freewill was the true destiny-maker. And it was by his own freewill he chose to take Anduin to the caverns without a guard detail. It was by his own freewill that he signed their death certificates.

Sighing heavily, the High King shifted himself to try to get comfortable. Seated against a rocky wall with his unconscious child laying against his side, he wasn't sure if he'd bleed out or die from hypothermia first. A falling rock during the collapse had managed to crumble his plate chestpiece, puncture it, and tear into the muscle and tendons on the side of his torso. He was lucky the rock or jagged plate didn't pierce a vital organ; that would've given him a quicker death but rob him of time with his son in his last moments.

He didn't know how Anduin would die. Placing his hand on the boy's back, he counted the aguishly long seconds between the prince's labored breaths that sounded wet. His lungs were too weak. Closing his eyes to try to fight off the tears that stung in the corners, Varian placed his head against the back of the cold mountain wall. After spending half a lifetime in the heat of battle and seeing his fair share of war wounds, he knew well how to categorize the soldiers that had a fighting chance and the ones who simply had to be kept comfortable before the inevitable. Had he come across Anduin on the battlefield, he wouldn't have hesitated to categorize him in the latter. His son wouldn't survive the night.

"You were all we ever wanted," he mumbled quietly as he cracked his eyes open and looked up at the darkened cavern. It was night and the remaining ice that lay shattered and broken around them still caught illumination from the outside brilliance. "Which is surprising because I…" He hesitated, wondering just how much he wanted to admit in his final hours. "I didn't want a family at all."

At the admission, he looked down expecting to find Anduin's hurt expression looking up at him. But the boy hadn't stirred and likely wouldn't ever again. So the High King sighed and continued, his stare never leaving his son's face. "It wasn't a time for a wife or, hells, children. We were still rebuilding the kingdom, I just had my coronation, and I was ushered to the altar to make good on a betrothal that was arranged when I was a boy. Your mother hated and wanted nothing to do with me. All she saw was a man carrying a burden of hate for Orcs that I'd never met. She believed I only saw the world from behind my sword and buckler. And she was right."

Ignoring the cold, Varian struggled to pull off his plated glove and gently brushed aside the blonde bangs from the boy's forehead. "I thought that hope would come in the form of conquering the Horde and Orcs. I didn't want to bother with a family - I grew up without one. I wanted to focus on being a King of a rebuilding nation, not having to split my time between my subjects and family. But I needed an heir to solidify the Wrynn dynasty and quiet the nobles who were clawing at the throne."

A ball of thickness grew in Varian's throat as he looked over the teen. "I didn't want you at first but when you were born, too early and so small, I couldn't think of another day without you. And I couldn't think of how I lived so long without you. I realized that the hope that I wanted so bad for Stormwind came from showing them a strong future, from having you."

Closing his eyes, he felt the warmth of his blood soaking his side. The steady flow wouldn't allow it to freeze, not even in the icy hell. "When you were born, it was like my eyes were opened to how unsafe Azeroth was. And when your mother died with you in her arms, I realized that I couldn't keep you safe from everything, no matter how hard I tried." He laughed ruefully. "And Light, did I try. And you hated me for it. Not that I blamed you. I hated myself for it."

How he wanted to tell Anduin so much then. But at the same time, bestowing wisdom to his child wouldn't do much if his child wouldn't outlive him to carry the wisdom on.

It wasn't how he expected to die. The battlefield was always what he envisioned, and then Anduin would continue on to inherit the crown and proceed to build Stormwind up to further glory. But how far from the truth Varian was. He wasn't in battle and his son would die with him. While he used to pray that he'd die long before Anduin, he suddenly changed that perspective. The last thing he wanted was his son to suffer and die alone.

The High King also imagined dying in darkness. Even with his eyes closed, he was surprised at how bright it was in the cave… a cave that shouldn't have had any illumination because the entrance to it was now blocked off.

His eyes snapped open.

It was too bright for a cave, especially one that just had a traumatic cave in. Looking around, Varian glanced in the direction of the entrance - well, where it used to be. As expected, the daunting wall of ice and rock blocked their freedom. But if the light source wasn't coming from there, where was it coming from?

The fatigue and exhaustion that hunted the warrior was shoved to the recesses of his mind, where he stowed away all the rest of his weaknesses that he couldn't afford to dwell on. Instead, a rush of hope jerked his adrenaline system into high alert and gave him the strength to stand up and collect Anduin in his arms. He was careful maneuvering the teen, which was no small feat with his own side sliced open and freely leaking his life's essence on his shirt and jerkin beneath his armor. The boy jostled freely in his arms for no more than a few seconds as the High King shifted him into a bridal carry, an arm slipping beneath his knees and under his slender shoulders, before he marched onwards.

He traveled in the opposite direction of the blocked off entrance, knowing that their freedom and chance for survival was no longer there. Instead he delved deeper into the heart of the cavern and quickly lost count of how many footsteps he managed. It was difficult navigating around the fallen ice and rocks and still maintaining his balance in his weakened state, but Varian had seen worse. His times in the Ring had made him fight with shattered bones and shredded muscle and still come out victorious. And so he opened the cage Lo'Gosh was typically kept penned inside and allowed the beast to run wild with his body.

As much as Varian and Lo'Gosh hated one another and couldn't see eye to eye on almost every subject, they both held incredible love for their son.

Despite going deeper into the heart of the mountain, the pale light catching on the ice around him grew stronger, encouraging him in silent applause to continue on. That there was hope if he only had the strength for the two of them. Anduin had mustered an impossible rush of strength in his broken, frail body to keep them safe and protected during the collapse. Varian refused to allow that sacrifice to go wasted; he'd pick up where his son left off and get them out of the cave and to safety. They'd survive.

With darkness tunneling his vision and death continuing to mock him, Varian almost missed the small opening at the end of the narrow passage. It was small, not even as tall as him, but wide enough that he could squeeze him and his son through with the right angle. If he wasn't so infused with a heated adrenaline, the wolf inside of him single mindedly focused on survival and nothing else, he would've broken down in tears at the sight of night and the hope it carried.

And he might've hesitated at the blizzard that awaited them.

He had to shift and maneuver both himself and Anduin's limp figure to get through the small opening. If he had more time, he might've shed himself of his plate to make the effort easier. But each second was a second off of his son's chance, and he wouldn't put that in jeopardy anymore. Eventually and with the right amount of wiggling, the High King emerged from what was meant to be their icy grave and into the chilled night.

A wall of blistery snow slammed into him with enough force that it almost knocked him from his feet. Night had fallen over Winterspring, giving the High King some kind of timeframe for how long they were trapped in the caves. Hours must've gone by. And while night in the snowy lands normally would've given them a lavender-painted sky that'd reflect off the sheets of ivory snow, the sky was a bruised dark blue from the storm. Fractured rays from the moon fought to escape the clouds and spill down to the lands and her inhabitants. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Varian to get his bearings and start the treacherous trek north.

The cold was numbing and stole his breath, making him clutch the boy closer against him. He didn't look down at Anduin's face; if he was struggling for life, it'd prove too much of a distraction for the King and he doubted his ability to maintain enough strength to press on towards the lodge. But he also didn't look back behind him to see the thick trail of blood in his wake. At the very least, the wet warmth saturating his clothes on his side gave him some kind of heat in the face of the brutal weather.

Time became abstract and he wasn't sure how long he walked for. As the snow turned thicker and his feet began to struggle to hold balance, he couldn't ignore his dwindling strength that seeped from his body almost as fast as his blood did. He knew he was headed in the right direction - north - but he didn't know how far he'd have to go. The belly of the mountain zigzagged so much so that it disoriented him and possibly tossed him out further from the lodge than the real entrance. What could've been a feasible trip was suddenly feeling like a horrible mistake.

Darkness clawed at his mind and plagued his vision. He blinked rapidly to chase the darkness away and right his vision, staring forward with dogged determination to reach his destination. The snow was heavy and obscured his visibility horribly, making it difficult to see in front of him. But he didn't know if he couldn't see more than two or two hundred feet in front of him; the world spun and lurched as his energy and life was nearing its end.

Just as his leg gave out beneath him and he fell to the snowy ground, Varian saw the glowing lights of the lodge at the bottom of the hill. It was yet another cruel hand from fate, that he was so close to getting him and his son to safety but he couldn't make the final steps. The weakness and darkness closed in around him as he faintly became aware of his face plastered into the snow. And Anduin… he felt the boy still clutched in his arms, unconscious and unmoving, but he didn't have the strength to get up and check on him.

They'd die within sight of the lodge.

"There! I think I see 'em!"

The world shook and trembled under the collapsing darkness that swallowed up Varian's vision. The last thing he saw - or he thought he saw and it was likely just a hallucination - was a very short man in the oddly familiar shape of a dwarf barreling towards him through the snow.

_Muradin? _

It was impossible. But before the High King was given his answer, unconsciousness took him.


	12. Chapter 12

The sensation of falling. That's what dragged Anduin from sleep. It was an odd feeling but one he was well acquainted with. When he clumsily tumbled down a hill in Valley of the Four Winds, his body was rewarded with the sickening sensation of freefall before crashing into a turnip field. He was lucky the field was in full bloom with a bountiful harvest to pillow his fall, though the Pandaren farmer was less than impressed to find a disoriented prince squandering his crops.

Free falling was also the strange feeling he experienced after his body was broken under the Bell. Pain laced through his body like one of the many intricate tapestries hanging in the Throne Room, but he wouldn't forget that telltale feeling of falling through different planes. Maybe it was his body inching closer to death. But it made sense that it was more of the opposite - he was inching away from it, for wakefulness was always shortly at its heels.

And with wakefulness came a whole different cocktail of confusion and pain.

His eyes felt burdened with lead that kept them closed, and it took a titanic amount of strength to open them. But they didn't stay open for long. A brief glimpse of a canopy overhead - the pale blue fabric familiar to him - was the only thing he saw before nausea and lurching disorientation made him clamp his eyes shut again. The freefalling sensation was subsiding stubbornly, but was leaving him in a discerning amount of vertigo and weakness. Nothing seemed hinged and right in the world, not even him. Everything felt like it was spinning fantastically; from his aching body to the fluffy pillows and linens that embraced him.

Fluffy pillows and linens? A canopy overhead? Not just any canopy. It was a canopy that he had woken to for many years and would likely continue to wake to for many more.

Curiosity won out in the end, as it typically did for the teen, and he fought the storm of dizziness as he opened his eyes again. The world seemed to listen to him and quiet its spinning somewhat, allowing the prince enough power to struggle up to his elbows and look around the familiar room. A fireplace with an imposing stone mantle sat vigil across from him, the three doors in the bedroom were all closed, and the balcony doors were latched shut with their drapes fully waterfalling over them. Fractured rays of sunlight spilled out between the fabric.

The bedroom was just as Anduin remembered it: hues of rich blues accented with polished gold in the honored colors of the Alliance, a stack of dog-earred books messily left on a desk weeks ago, the ETC poster plastered on the wall beside the four-poster bed, the Horde rock band a comical addition to a Stormwindian royal's rooms. But how did he manage to wake up in his bedroom back in Stormwind? That was impossible. The last thing he remembered was…

A dreadful cold washed over him like an ice bath. Ice. That's exactly what he last remembered. The collapsing cavern that tried to entomb the father and son together. If it weren't for his holy shield that protected them, they would've… But how did they get out in the first place? How was he in Stormwind?

How long had he been asleep? Where was his father? Was he ok? Was he alive?

As weak and tired as he felt, Anduin's fear served him as an ally for once. He threw the thick brocade comforter from his body, barely taking note of the crisply clean pajamas he wore, and prepared to launch himself into a full search for answers. If his father succumbed to the elements and atrocity that stalked them, that would mean the prince was no longer a prince; his birthright would've granted him a natural ascension to the Crown, though governing would go to the House of Nobles during his time of unconsciousness.

His heart plunged into his stomach at the fearful thought; but was he more fearful at the thought of being king or being an orphan?

Just as his bare feet swung over the side of his bed and hit the cold stone floor, the side door leading to his private lavatory opened and a familiar figure strode out. "Your Highness!"

Anduin shamefully didn't care that he scared Wyll enough to make the poor chamberlain drop the neat stack of towels to the floor. The title was all he needed to hear to put his fretting at ease and affirm his current status in the Kingdom. If it were anyone else in his Household, he might've needed more confirmation that his father still breathed and the rightful addressing of a king was simply forgotten. But not Wyll; the loyal servant sacrificed his entire life and livelihood to serving House Wrynn, starting with his father's early reign and shifting his role to attending to the young heir. Impeccably posh and unfaltering in knowing the ways of the Court, Anduin often turned to Wyll when he needed a refresher in knowing etiquette in certain situations. No, Wyll wouldn't mess up addressing a royal, let alone his king.

"I… I did not expect you to be awake! Truly, it's a blessing from the Light that- What am I saying? Allow me to get the healers!" The poor chamberlain fought with the towels, his shaky, urgent hands dropping them a few times before he resolved himself to simply balling up the mess and rising to his feet.

But the prince quickly shook his head, earning a frown from the servant. "I _am_ a healer, Wyll." Judging from the deepening of the frown, he doubted that line worked. "And I wish to… I wish to see my father. Where is he? Is he…"

The sentence wasn't completed. But it didn't have to be for Wyll to understand. "His Majesty is well, my prince. More well that I think the Nobles would prefer, if the yelling from the Petitioner's Chamber is any indication." He chuckled nervously, but his worried eyes continued to run marathons over the teen's figure, his mind clearly undecided on what course to take. Duty and loyalty were cherished traits to a Noble's servant, but they often didn't walk the same path. "I am under strict orders to ensure your well being. And I do not think your father or the healers would take kindly to my allowing you to walk the corridors after you've been unconscious for seven suns. You should truly be seen by the healers..."

Anduin did a double take and ignored the pressing concern in the manservant's words. "_Seven_ suns?! I've been out for a week?!" That would explain why his limbs and muscles protested at any movement, releasing a creaky litany of objection from his hasty actions. "How did I get here? In Stormwind?"

"A portal. After Muradin found you and your father half alive in the blizzard, you were under the care of the healers at the lodge. But your father insisted on getting you home, even against advisings." He pretended to rearrange the towels, his fretful nerves causing him to make no progress at all. "You and your father returned here four nights ago, along with... that Orc shaman." His face twisted into dislike. "His herbal treatments he _insists_ on using have the most foul smell. I've been laundering round the clock and I still swear this room still reeks of burnt…"

But Anuin stopped listening to Wyll complain. While the teen had so many questions wanting answers - how did Muradin know where they were? Did Thrall really come with them to Stormwind and was he still there somewhere? How had he and his father survived at all? - none of that mattered in the moment. No, the prince was humbled by a fierce longing for one thing. Or rather, one person. The one person whose stalwart fortitude inspired nations and rallied leaders, who fought with wit as much as his brawns, who didn't bend a knee for anyone and lived his life in brutal honesty at the expense of favoritism. His strength was contagious and whipped through lands like a consuming wildfire.

But where the world saw a fearless king, all Anduin wanted was his father.

"-has been a horrible patient since his return. By the Light, his Majesty opened court the moment he was lucid enough from the healing tinctures. I swear, my love for your House is without question but the Wrynn stubbornness-"

"Wyll," Anduin interrupted with a beseeching look. He'd heard rumors, as most had, about a supposed charm he possessed. A charm strong enough to disarm the most unrelenting and callous of stances. While he didn't believe a word of it - any "charm" he had to get his desperate way in the past had been through employing the void - he still cranked up a boyish look he hoped would do the trick. "I'm tired and worn and I'll probably be shuffled between all of the healers in the Eastern Kingdoms when my father hears I'm awake, allowing me no time of my own. So please… I just want to see my father."

He could physically see the chamberlain buckling under the look, fighting against it while running the possibilities through his mind. At first, Wyll didn't say anything, just flicked a dodgy stare between the prince and the towels that served as a comfortable distraction.

But he didn't leave. And he didn't say no.

"His Majesty is currently holding court with the House," Wyll spoke in a slow, cautious voice, but there was a serving of resolution. "Now, I was simply coming in here to change out the linens. And I have done that _undisturbed _because my Prince is still asleep. What he chooses to do when he awakens, when I am long gone and conveniently discharge the guards to begin their shift change, is his prerogative."

The smile that burst on the teen's face was almost strong enough to fill his being with a rush of energy, invigorating his fatigued, aching body that still desperately longed to rest in bed. Standing on his feet, the priest's balance teetered like a top, wobbling slightly left to right as his weak muscles strained from disuse. And while he nearly broke into song to show his appreciation, he didn't have to. Having grown up with the chamberlain serving him as more than a mere household servant, there for him when he scraped his knee and recited his letters when he was a mere child, the two maintained a braided affinity that only strengthened over the years. Wyll was more than just a servant or accessory to their Household. He was a member of it and a father figure when his own father fought with his demons.

Their silence was comfortable but emboldened with gratitude as Wyll slipped out from the room. It only took Anduin a few minutes to gather his strength and promise his body some rest once his mind was put at ease. After he heard the telltale clinking and clanking of plate growing more distant in the hall, the prince grimaced as he left his room and emerged into an empty corridor.

Traveling through the imposing hallways gilted in the splendor of the Alliance's might, Anduin wasn't the least moved by any of the exotic tapestries or intimidating suits of armor hanging on the walls. Maybe visitors who weren't versed in the Keep's climate would pause every few feet to marvel at the craftsman that harmoniously conveyed their efficacy in all meaning of the word. But to the prince, it was home. The stale smell of the flagstone rocks and floor polish, the sounds of boots and distant voices in the various council chambers, the tepid warmth that always seemed to envelope the castle. For a time - or rather, many times - the castle felt more oppressive than the stifling Stockades, his luxurious chambers acting as his prison cell and the royal guards no better than patrol guards. In many ways, he was shackled worse than the prisoners held in the desolate depths of their city, where vermin and rats prevailed and hope died.

He was the prince. The heir. The next in line to inherit one of the strongest kingdoms in all of Azeroth.

And yet, as Anduin turned the corner to leave the Royal Household section of the Keep, he didn't feel at all like a prisoner then. He only felt incredibly at home.

There was a warmth he took for granted that he felt now, maybe its grace was intensified from his two brushes with close death. Maybe it was the Light's way of showing him to appreciate what he had and to stop running from his life and family. From his purpose. As much as his heart yearned for the thrill of adventure and the feel of freedom that he was given in Pandaria, it was a hunger that felt sated. The Keep's hallways seemed brighter and more welcoming for him, and he had an odd desire to walk the streets of his city and visit the small tavern in the Mage Quarter, the very one that had horrible egg puns on their breakfast menu. The morning seagulls song that filled the docks was a perfect soundtrack to watching the naval ships make birth. And the apple orchards out in Elwynn would be nearing their ripening. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone apple picking with his father.

It'd been years. Long before Lo'Gosh.

When he reached the Petitioner's Chambers, Anduin realized his plan was poorly thought through. The two guards stationed outside the closed doors shifted uncomfortably as they eyed the teen up and down, their expressions strangled as they fought with their own perceptions. Still, they offered a stiff: "Your Highness" and made no move to open the door for the Prince. Quirking a brow up, Anduin followed their gaze to his body and immediately flushed at realizing he was still dressed in his pajamas and barefoot. He hadn't bathed, didn't see to properly grooming himself, and probably looked like he'd rolled straight out of bed. Because he had.

"Erm… I…" Presentation was half the battle, and his dignity was too ironclad to let his inappropriate attire drag him down. The teen lifted his chin proudly and mustered up his courtly tone, which sounded painfully forced on his scratchy voice. "I'm here to see my father."

His stare not moving from the prince's face, the guard made a subtle gesture towards the raised lion-crested tapestry hung on a large wall directly beside the Petitioner's Chambers. It was a signal, one done out of tradition than necessity thanks to the employment of guards, that high court was in session. "If it is His Majesty's wish, your admittance shall be permitted. But the King's order was to remain undisturbed."

Anduin paused and took in the dark crescents under the guard's eyes before he glanced mournfully at the door. The session was likely long and had been going on for a lengthy time if the guard was already looking ready to succumb to sleep. In the past, court sessions wouldn't extend beyond a comfortable half to full-day with appropriate meal breaks, largely for the ease of the nobles and to diffuse his father's gathering anger. Any longer would create a cocktail of disaster; the nobles would become restless and impatient with whatever topic was tossed around the table and his father's perseverance would ebb considerably with the passing hours. It became an assumed amenity to limit high court to avoid any quarrels and bickering; House Wrynn was already in strained relations with many of the other nobles, they didn't need more reason to find the monarch's temperament more loathsome.

As much as he wanted to see his father and be in his strengthening presence, he had to play the part of a prince adhering to the wishes of his king.

Frowning deeply, Anduin shook his head slowly and moved over towards one of the stone benches pushed against a wall. "No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I wouldn't want to interrupt them." _Be a childish inconvenience. I wouldn't want to be a childish inconvenience just because I wanted to see my father. _

He felt foolish then and wondered if he should've listened to Wyll and just allowed the healers to bombard him with fretting concern. But no, instead he'd listened to his emotional whims and the juvenile longing of an injured child seeking the solace and comfort of their parent. But his parent wasn't a mere trader, mage, or even commissioned officer in the navy with responsibilities that had a clear cut start and finish. No, his father was the chief commander to _several _dozen fleets and armies that stretched across five continents, king to one of the most flourishing kingdoms in Azeroth and a renowned leader who successfully led campaigns that dethroned a Lich King and an Orc tyrant. His time was precious and often splintered at the best of times.

And Anduin wanted that time for his selfish, childish reason.

Releasing a trounced, defeated sigh, he didn't hear the door to the Petitioner's Chambers open as he stood up from the bench and prepared to make the sorrowful trek back to his room. The healers would consume him in a frenzy and shackle him to his bed as they fretted over his wellbeing, albeit his protests that he was fine and more than capable of overseeing his own recovery. And he'd play the part of a dutiful prince and obedient son and wait for his Liege to hear of his awakened state and come to see him at _his _convenience. With the chaotic state the nation was still quivering in, how could he assume that his father would want to slice out precious time just to appease the teen's… what? Moment of insecurity?

He'd traveled across Pandaria for months without so much as hearing from his father, even going so far as to avoid his guards and his clutches. Now he was longing for his presence?

He had no right to claim it. Not after everything he'd done and put his father through. For every order Varian gave him regarding his safety, Anduin had defied it with impressive precision. Despite his father's insistence otherwise, he'd arranged his own tutelage under Velen and left Darnassus with a people that weren't his own, greatly upsetting his father and leaving him to wallow in his feelings of failure. Only a short time later had been Pandaria, when he'd taken so many matters in his own young, incapable hands and tried to move pieces on a chessboard only to find out how out of his league he was. And more recently, he'd gone against his father's orders to stay in the lodge and at his side, and earned the Banshee Queen's odious attention and ire.

Who was Anduin to make demands on his father, to desire his time when he wanted it, when it served him, when he'd ignored his own father's desires fantastically in the past?

"Anduin?!"

The teen stopped cold in his tracks, his back to the Petitioner's Chambers and the voice's beholder. But the familiar baritone, so strong and deep, that it warmed his core and quieted the irrational worries that plagued him. As he turned around, Anduin tried to steel his resolve and bolster his nerves, creating what he hoped would sound like a pragmatic excuse for why he was there. His pajamas and disarray state would disprove any lies about wanting to assist his father in the court, but he could come up with a feasible reason that he was walking around the Keep and just _happened_ to be near the Petitioner's Chambers.

But when he finished his revolution and found himself captured in King Varian Wrynn's astonished gaze, he felt the floor fall out under him. And, with it, all of his courage and willpower fled every inch of his body.

Standing just slightly in the corridor, leaving a bustling room of nobles at his back, the High King blinked several times at the boy, his breathing coming in more rapidly. "Anduin- You're awake! I've been…"

Jagged movement behind his father yanked Anduin back to the present, his brilliant blue eyes flicking from the monarch to the court behind him. A recess, most likely. He ducked his head and spoke in a low, broken tone. "Busy, I know. You've been busy, father. I… I didn't mean to intrude or-or come here to…. I was simply walking around the Keep and…"

The lie dried up on his tongue before it could fully form. But that didn't matter. Even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have finished the sentence. Heavy boots created a cacophonous thunder in the small space between them that was quickly closed, and before Anduin could realize what was happening, his entire body was snatched up in a warm embrace.

The strong arms easily eclipsed his narrow shoulders and clamped him close against the burly chest void of the typical plate chest piece. The teen said nothing and doubted his ability to form words even if he wanted to as he pressed his face into the king's shoulder, relishing the feel of the embersilk fabric on his cheek and the familiar scent of his father's aftershave and armor polish. In parts, the aromas meant nothing, but together it created the perfect mixture to calm the teen's mind and bring him the security he so desperately craved.

Broken physically and ailing mentally, Anduin leaned against the strong body that didn't waver or falter. Though he felt bandages beneath his father's jacket, the King brooked no issues in gripping the boy tight against him in a clutch that challenged all of Azeroth to try to take him away again. Neither cared or noticed the few nobles that spotted them from the doorway, though they quickly turned away to give the father and son their moment. Those who didn't were ushered back to their seats by a solemn Genn.

"I'm sorry," Anduin finally choked out, only realizing then his body was shaken with sobs, his tears saturating the fine silk fabric beneath his cheek. "I'm sorry for-for bothering you and-and I know you're-"

"I am _exactly_ where I need to be." The arms slowly untangled themselves from the teen and Varian leaned back just enough on his heels to look down at the boy, still regarding him in amazement that he was awake. "Do not ever apologize - _ever_ \- for coming to me. Especially not after… not after… Light, Anduin. I almost lost you twice."

And just like that, the dam holding the prince's emotions shattered. "I'm sorry for everything," he blurted out. "For going against your wishes, for ignoring you, for leaving you as often as I did when you didn't want me to. I'm sorry for making you think I'm misguided and naive in my ways and making you worry for me. I'm sorry for being _selfish_ with everything and for-for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you." The tears sprung from his eyes with renewed flow. "And you're wrong - I don't hate you for trying to keep me safe. I've never, not one day in my life, hated you. I never could and I never will."

It took Varian a few seconds of confusion for him to place what his son was saying. But the puzzle pieces fell together, and his despairing memories in the icy cavern came rushing back to him. Words that weren't ever meant to be spoken were heard, admittance of harsh truths when faced with the cruel mistress of death.

Varian thought he was going to die. And he thought his son wasn't awake to hear him.

Swallowing repeatedly, making the thick lump in his throat bob and shift, the High King looked down at his son in unabashed ardor and warmth. The boy was everything he wasn't; emotionally reactive, soft spoken and calm, turning to compassion instead of anger. And through that alien benevolence emerged a strength that Varian could only marvel at from a distance. He could never learn to understand the teen no matter how much he tried. But there was an unfaltering love in those differences.

"Do you know what I have the taste for?"

Wiping the palm of his hand hastily over his cheeks to clear them of the wetness, Anduin blinked at the sudden question from his father. "What?"

"Pandaren noodles." Varian placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and gently turned him around, fully placing the Petitioner's Chambers and meeting at their backs. He wouldn't return to it, and Genn would graciously understand and carry it on in his absence. As he began walking down the hall with the teen at his side, he felt the quizzical stare fastened on him. "And I heard that there's a famous noodle cart in the Jade Forest owned by a Pandaren named Forehead."

"Chin."

"Close enough."


End file.
